


Greener Grass

by CosmicMind



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Au- Isabella Lives, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Disabled Character, Depression, Drugs, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hallucination!Edward - Freeform, Hallucinations, Heartbreak, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Stalking, triangulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-12-15 03:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 34,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11797356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicMind/pseuds/CosmicMind
Summary: The grass is always greener on the other side.(Canon divergence from 3x06 onwards)





	1. Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't like the canon Isabella plot line so I wrote my own. Sticking it to the Gotham writers.

 

A wise man once said that everybody would get a second chance at life. To let bygones be bygones and emerge a new man, who was scrubbed of surface sins. Though thinking back now, that wise man must have been a priest, selling out some pious religion to the moronic public, as that notion was complete and utter bollocks.

 

That is, at least in Edward’s case, and in the case of reality.

 

People like Ed didn’t deserve nor get to “start over.” People like Edward could never cut off the roots of who they were- malicious scum of society who should be locked in Arkham from the good folk. A stain that couldn’t be washed away. Oswald went through that path, from umbrella boy to crime lord, from Arkham’s definition of “cured” to leading angry mobs, and now mayor with a tight grip on the underworld like the old days.

 

People like Edward were made to be nothing short of unfeeling, uncaring monsters; as much as Ed’s stomach curled at the name, he was a psychopath, plain and simple. He didn’t need a “second chance,” as the ability to change who he really is seemed impervious to his new lush lifestyle.

 

But here he was, standing before his second chance in a dinky wine store downtown, who had a face of an angel and hair of gold. Kristen Kringle- with a hair color change.

 

Edward’s track of rambling about wine was cut off when looking upon her fair face. It couldn’t be, it shouldn’t be! Here, in the flesh, like the past was a mere dream. This had to be a hallucination, a trick his mind was playing on him. Edward cleared his throat with a thick swallow.

 

“M-Miss Kringle?” he said in awe.

 

Blonde Kristen shook her head. “No, oh, no, my name’s Isabella,” she replied apologetically. The corners of her mouth upturned in a way that made Ed’s mind go fuzzy with memories of those happy days. He felt his mouth hanging open dumbly as she took a step closer.

 

“I-I’m sorry to bother you. I don’t usually talk to people. It’s just, um… something about you.”

 

The subtle movements Isabella made- brushing back a strand of hair, gently caressing her wine in her delicate gloved hands- were alluring. A nymph dancing in a calm forest. She turned to leave, and Edward was ready to go back to his business, but there was a part of his frozen heart that remerged to oblige.

 

“N-No, no please, there’s…” Edward stammered, his words jumbling like marbles in his throat, mixing and confusing, “There’s no need to apologize.” Isabella gave that sweet smile again that struck sparks into Edward’s core.

 

This strange feeling blossoming in his breast felt alien to Edward. Was this feeling longing? Compassion? Love? He had convinced himself that these feelings died long ago with the old Edward, so why were they back?

 

Yet, he didn’t hate this feeling. Quite the opposite actually.

 

Edward glanced back at the wine bottle in his hand. He knew Oswald was waiting for him with important news to discuss. It would be discourteous to show up late for the man who freed him from Arkham, housed him, and cherished Edward’s companionship, as his friend pool only housed one it seemed. Edward was so lost in thought he didn’t notice Isabella getting closer, breaking through Edward’s personal bubble.

 

“You struggle to regain me,” she spoke, “When I’m lost, you struggle to obtain me. What am I?”

 

Edward froze and looked back down at Isabella. Upon closer inspection, her face was lightly dusted with makeup, and her soft lips harbored a tint of deep pink. The resemblance to Kristen was uncanny, but she seemed so much more different. Perhaps it was time’s doing, but she seemed a bit prettier than Kristen, more fair and doll-like.

 

Edward returned the smile, setting the wine back on the shelf without breaking eye contact. “Time,” he finished, relishing in how the corners of Isabella’s lips subtly tugged upwards at that.

 

Oswald could probably wait. After all, Oswald would want Edward to be happy, as good friends do.

 

“I’m Edward. Edward Nygma.”

 

\----

 

A giddy mess, Edward had found himself following Isabella back to her apartment not too far from the wine store. At this point he could hardly remember that he intended to buy wine tonight, and it seemed that Isabella did too. But they both left the miniscule shop with something far greater in value tonight, and that was just alright.

 

Isabella’s home was a clear reflection of her appearance- quaint and conservative with a hint of vintage demeanor. There wasn’t a knick knack or lamp out of place, nor did a surface remain undusted. Had Edward been the man he aspired to be, his old apartment would be just as tidy and homely (though it wasn’t like he decorated for guests he didn’t expect to come).

 

“Well, here we are,” Isabella welcomed, promptly bending over to remove her heeled boots, “You can leave your shoes by the door. I don’t mind.”

“I’d prefer not to,” Edward replied curtly. He always hated his bare feet touching surfaces beyond his own room and bathroom- it made him feel gross.

 

“Oh,” Isabella said with a blink, her smile never faltering, “That’s fine, too. Though I’d prefer them not to touch the furniture, if possible.”

 

“Will do,” Edward said, grinning. Isabella motioned to the couch, most likely to get Edward to sit there. He did as told, taking a seat in at the far end. The couch felt nearly overstuffed, and not too comfortable, but it was manageable.

 

“Oh, geez,” Isabella said suddenly, smacking her forehead with a light laugh, “I completely forgot why I even went out tonight. I was about to offer you wine!”

 

“Ditto,” Edward responded, a chuckle bubbling up from his throat.

 

“Do you like tea?”

 

“Of course. Never much of a coffee person.”

 

“Same here. I have Earl Gray. Is that alright? It’s my favorite.”

 

“It’s perfect. No cream, though.”

 

Isabella took a minute to get her kettle on the stove, and sat with Ed while it boiled. She sat close, really close, and Edward liked that. He could swim in her eyes and take in her beauty better this way. He was even fine when Isabella set her hand over his, despite practically being a stranger.

 

“So, Edward,” Isabella began eagerly, “Do you read often? You look like a bookworm, if I may be presumptuous.”

 

“No, not really,” Edward replied, “My job is very demanding, and lately my life has been a bit… hectic, for better words. Though I frankly grew up on books, and wouldn’t mind picking up a new novel soon.”

 

“Have you read _Wuthering Heights_ , by any chance?”

 

“By Brontë? No, but I have heard of it. What’s it about?”

 

“It’s a romantic tragedy. Two star-crossed lovers, kept apart by social status. It’s been a wonderful read.”

 

The two discussed novels they read for several minutes, Edward making a mental note of the ones Isabella mentioned. Edward’s eyes wandered around the room as they spoke, taking in the scenery. There was a clean coffee table in front of the couch with visible wear- a possible thrift store find- with only two coasters on it. Everything else around him seemed fairly average- a couple of family photos, a bookshelf, basic things for an intelligent woman that Isabella seemed to be.

 

“You know,” Isabella added, “If you want I can get you a copy of that book from my library.”

 

“You own a library?” Edward asked, mindlessly running his fingers along the ridges of the sofa fabric in a satisfying way.

 

“Oh, well, it’s technically not _my_ library,” Isabella corrected herself, a hint of pink flooding her high cheeks, “But I’m there so much it feels like home. It’s not too far from City Hall, just up the road from it. It’s small, but it’s nice.”

 

“I believe I’ve passed there before,” Edward added, “City Hall may as well be my second home as well. In and out all the time, but at least I can work from home.”

 

“Really? What do you do?”

 

“Chief of staff.”

 

“Seriously?” Isabella exclaimed, her excitement causing her eyes to light up- just like Kristen’s, “That’s incredible! I don’t watch the news often but I thought you looked familiar. Oh, now I feel embarrassed for being such a nobody librarian.” She let out a nervous laugh, just like Kristen’s- eerily like Kristen’s. A wave a nausea passed over Edward, and he touched his forehead lightly while mimicking Isabella’s innocent laugh to be polite.

 

Before Isabella took note of Edward’s drastic change in mood, the kettle let out a high-pitched hiss. Edward covered his ears, wincing at the obnoxious sound. Isabella sprang up to check on it, and Edward stood as well.

 

“I-Isabella?” Edward asked, “Where’s the restroom?”

 

Isabella craned her neck around from her spot in front of the stove. “Hm? Oh, it’s on the left side of the hall. It should be opened already.”

 

Edward nodded, making his way to the specified room in the short hallway. He noted the shut door perpendicular from the bathroom, figuring that must be Isabella’s bedroom. It seemed like Isabella didn’t just want a quick one-night stand out of Edward. That was good.

 

As soon as he closed the door, Edward looked in the mirror and took a deep breath. It was okay. He could do this. Isabella had lots of differences from the girl he murdered. He must have just been tired- he had a long week afterall.

 

His reflection followed him as he moved cautiously, which made him let out a sigh of relief. Everything was fine. This was his second chance, and he wasn’t going to let his own anxieties control him.

 

He exited the bathroom and met Isabella back on the couch, who had brought him a cup of tea in a kitschy cat mug. They spent all evening talking about anything and everything, and Edward was so invested in this angel that he forgot why he had ventured out of the mansion in the first place.


	2. All Is Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is a prize to be won without even knowing it.

Had Oswald not been on the verge of a heart attack just a few minutes ago, he would have strangled Edward on the spot for the complete and utter bullshit he pulled last night.

 

It started when Edward was thirty minutes late to the Feast of Coming-Out-To-Your-Best Friend, in which Oswald practiced his speech at least a dozen times to an unresponsive chair and partially to an unamused Olga. That was fine. _ Maybe he ran into traffic _ , Oswald had thought,  _ or had trouble finding the absolute perfect bottle of wine (he’s meticulous like that) _ . Oswald could wait for the love of his life.

 

Then thirty minutes late turned to two hours with no response and an ice cold meal still on the table. By then Oswald was hysterical, pacing around the house furiously, hoping, praying, that the door would open any second. Edward was fine.

 

Unless, of course, Butch or Tabitha or any one of Oswald’s countless enemies dragged his beloved into an alleyway and killed him- or worse. It wasn't like Edward was built to fight. He was very smart, yet could barely hold up in a fist fight, so how would he defend himself against Gotham’s underground?

 

Anxiety chewed at his flesh, and he had a few too many panic glasses of vodka, which partially spilled on the floor as he paced with shaking hands. The world was fuzzy, yet the only thing he could clearly grasp was the thought of Edward. His cologne’s scent, the silky feel of his suit, the look of genuine admiration that made Oswald simply melt.

 

It was too much. At some point Oswald flopped on the couch, discarded his tie and undid a couple of buttons, and covered his wet face from the ceiling. Edward would have to have called by now; most people don’t just ignore 50 missed calls from their best friend, especially Edward.

 

Olga loomed over Oswald, a sour expression warping her pudgy, middle-aged face. “Not eat?” she asked in her thick accent, “Throw away?”

 

“N-no, no, no,” Oswald slurred, yet refusing to move his arm to show Olga his red eyes, “Just pack it up, then g-go home. H-He’ll… be here soon. He… he...”

 

Olga gave a silent nod, then murmured something in Russian as she left the living room, the sound of her shoes tapping the wood echoing throughout the large house. Soon enough the sound of her movements had left through the front door, giving Oswald the initially excitement that Edward had come home. But he didn’t.

 

That night Oswald dreamt about the worst possible scenarios for Edward being late- from tripping and falling into oncoming traffic to being stabbed mercilessly in an alleyway, lying in a puddle of spilled wine and his own blood. The mere thought of losing Edward was such poison that he ignored his intense hangover and need to take painkillers for his leg and went straight to the phone.

 

He was too busy yelling at the unhelpful operator of his 911 call that he didn’t even hear the door open and someone walk inside. A familiar voice pulled Oswald out of his frenzy and he looked back, almost not believing what he saw.

 

Edward was home, alive and safe.

 

Oswald ignored Edward’s profuse apologizing for his sudden disappearance, instead focusing on his furious attempt not to start crying as he held the taller man tightly. The worries that kept his up all night seemed to have disappeared for a minute and time froze, keeping him in this exact moment of pure bliss.

 

Then the cold hand of reality reached out and yanked Oswald out of his bliss as Edward uttered the most horrendous, vile phrase he could hear right now.

 

“I met someone,” Edward exclaimed, drunk on his own giddiness, “I think I’m in love!”

 

Just like that, Oswald’s world shattered, and words that he wasn’t going to say in front of his friend- crush- would not being able recount the mixture of seething rage and heartbroken lamentations he felt in that moment. Had he not known better, Oswald would be convinced this was just a sick joke. But Edward doesn’t tell jokes; yes he has funny riddles every now and then, but he never really joked.

 

The fact that only a few hours later, Edward announced he was going to be skipping the Founder’s Dinner- a Gotham tradition that only the most elite of society can attend- over some date with this new mystery woman just poured salt on the wound. Not only that, but he decided to have dinner in  _ Oswald’s  _ house without at least letting Oswald know ahead of time. Had Edward forgotten basic manners? At least if Edward asked Oswald could pull an excuse not to have her over out of his ass.

 

The mayor being stood up for a woman Edward just met? It was simply embarrassing. If Barbara's posse ever heard of this, they’d never let Oswald live it out!

 

When Oswald had a free hour after lunch, he was persistent to get out of the house, yet assuring Edward not to go. “Just going to do a bit of brushing up before the Founder’s Dinner,” he assured his very attractive Chief of Staff with a smile, “I shouldn’t be long. Please, get some rest, my friend. You obviously had a long night.”

 

“Oh… alright then,” Edward said, beaming back at his friend, “As you wish, Mister Mayor.”

 

Oswald made sure that he was around the corner before a scowl took over his face. The mere thought of Edward’s new relationship before even giving Oswald a chance was revolting. Perhaps if this mystery woman was given a little history lesson about Edward…

 

Without even knowing this woman beyond her first name and how much Edward was enchanted by her, Oswald was already dead set on one goal:

 

This meant war.

 

\----

 

“Oh, Edward,” Isabella jested, a hand resting on her chest to calm her fit of giggles, “You really know how to win a woman over, but I don’t think I can eat another bite! That veal was delicious though.”

 

“I’m glad you liked it,” Edward responded, taking a break to finish off his wine before speaking again, “Olga has always been a gifted cook; so meticulous about details, despite a limited vocabulary. Only the best for the mayor.”

 

“I agree. Reminds me of one of my old exes, except he didn’t cook nearly as well and wasn’t as charming nor as handsome as you.” Isabella gave Edward a playful wink and finished off her own drink, allowing Edward to bask in the aura of that compliment.

 

“I was the one with the in my, er… previous relationship,” Edward added, feeling his chest tighten,  “Well, the relationship wasn’t long enough for me to test her cooking abilities, per say, but I did cook for her on our first date- her and another couple. Double date, you see.”

 

Isabella nodded intently as she listened, rising from her seat before Edward even finished talking. She extended her narrow, tender hand out to Edward, who mimicked her and followed her into the living room. She sat herself on one of the more modern-looking stools, yet Edward wasn’t ready to sit down, for his nerves kept his body upright.

 

“Edward,” she began, her voice soft, so soft.

 

“Y-Yes, Isabella?” Edward stammered, gulping silently. Isabella withdrew her hand from Edward’s, opting to fold them on her lap.

 

“Tell me about her.”

 

“A-A-Abo-About who?”

 

“Your past girlfriend. What was she like?” Isabella batted her doe eyes up at Edward, making him putty in her hands. It was one of the few things a mastermind like Edward wasn’t able to resist.

 

“Well, um, she, uh,” Edward stuttered, fidgeting his hands in front of his chest profusely and subconsciously began pacing, “Her name was… was Kristen. She was one of my c-co-workers during my time at the GCPD. She was a records keeper and I was forensics, so our paths crossed often. She was intelligent… and… wonderful. 

 

“I’m sorry, but, every time I look at you, I almost see her. N-Not, not that is a bad thing! It’s just, well, you resemble her so much and…” Edward’s words drifted off, and he momentarily ceased his pacing.

 

“Yes?” Isabella implored.

 

“Isabella, I have a sort of confession to make,” Edward confessed, taking in a deep, unsteady breath.

 

“You can tell me anything.”

 

“My Kristen and I didn’t break up. She was… murdered.”

 

Isabella’s calm expression did not falter, unlike Edward’s hesitant, fearful one. “Oh my!” she gasped, “Why? By whom?”

 

“By whom… by whom is a, for lack of better words, tragic answer. The murderer of Kristen Kringle was… me. I killed Kristen Kringle.”

 

“Oh… oh, Edward.”

 

Edward took another deep breath in, then paced again. “So while I did…” he blathered, “ _ Kill _ my girlfriend- who does look rather similar to you- it was not out of malice, or intent. It was an accident… that I  _ deeply _ regret. I was not going to tell you this, but then I-”

 

“Edward,” Isabella interrupted before Edward could babble on, “I know what you did.”

 

The entire slippery slope of conversation Edward had been riding on was gone, and he was left dumbfounded. “Y-You do?”

 

“I spent the afternoon reading every article about you.”

 

“You know what I did… yet you still came on this date anyways? That’s not logical.”

 

“Love isn’t logical.”

 

Isabella stood back up, slowly decreasing the distance between herself and a (previously) legally insane murderer. “I’ve lived my whole life inside the pages of books,” she disclosed, “Any of the other men I dated… they didn’t compare to the lovers I spent my life with. Anthony… Cleopatra. Romeo and Juliet. Othello, Desdemona.”

 

Edward’s unrest turned to intrigue as his lips turned upwards, ignoring the nagging feeling in the far back of his mind that said this was a bad idea. “All of them died,” he protested.

 

“Edward,” Isabella continued, ignoring the comment with a teary smile, “You’re the first to measure up. You’re the one I waited for.”

 

“You’re not scared of me?”

 

“Of course I am.”

 

Before either could babble any longer, they sealed their lips together in a moment of passion and understanding. Edward’s chest felt like it was ready to burst with excitement as he held his chance at a better life closer to his chest. He had heard the sound of the door opening, yet ignored it to focus on his beloved before him.

 

Oswald started rambling on about the night he had, but froze and stormed off without saying another word after witnessing the display before him. Isabella’s eyes were slightly open when he did this, making a quick eye contact with the limping man. Her lips formed into a smile as she did this, and it wasn’t just from the sweet taste of Edward.

 

It wasn’t like she was an idiot; gossip about important figures in Gotham spread effortlessly, even to Isabella’s dinky library, especially regarding his affections for a certain chief of staff. She also knew that Oswald was a ticking timebomb of murder and violence, and in no way a suitable partner for a man like Edward.

 

She had wanted to make eye contact with Oswald as a sign of sorts.  A sign that Oswald’s pathetic attempt at intimidation in her own library did not phase her, that he wasn’t going to win that easily. A sign that Edward was her’s, and not Oswald’s.

 

A sign that Oswald had already lost the war he started during the first battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm gonna start deviating from canon by the next chapter (had to get the boring stuff out of the way). I did change some things from canon during this chapter, but I did add a lot of stuff, mainly to give a new perspective and add stuff to the stuff y'all already know. Please bear with me through this boring time!!


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships, be it friendships or romantic endeavors, need compromise to survive.

“Oswald!” Edward exclaimed as he burst into Oswald’s master bedroom. His hair was unkempt, and the house slippers he wore with his pyjamas slid on the polished wooden floor, since he had just raced down the hall. Very un-Edward, especially at this hour.

 

Oswald, on the other hand, wasn’t too excited to see Edward for more than one reason. One, for letting that vile woman into his own home to make out right in front of Oswald, and two, for making quite the ruckus and causing his hangover to worsen. He shot a wicked glare at Edward, then downed his ibuprofen with water. Edward’s shoulders lowered meekly as his breathing evened out as well.

 

“I… I didn’t, I didn’t mean to,” Edward stammered. It was by now Oswald noticed the newspaper in his hand.

 

“No, it’s alright, my friend,” Oswald assured, “Come in, no need to be shy.”

 

“Your leg,” Edward continued, “Is it acting up?”

 

“Yes… my leg,” Oswald lied, grateful the empty bottle thrown on the floor was out of Edward’s field of vision, “What is it? An emergency?”

 

“I had read the news after Olga left the morning paper by my door,” Edward explained, moving to stand near Oswald’s bedside and holding up the front page of the paper, “Th-the Founder’s Dinner! Why didn’t you tell me someone tried to poison you?!”

 

Blinking, Oswald snatched the paper out of Edward’s hands, holding it up. The headline read, ‘ _ FOUNDER’S DINNER DISASTER! ATTEMPTED MAYOR POISONING _ , _ ’  _ in bold print, along with a picture of the wine Oswald and the other attendees almost drank last night. Valerie Vale never failed to make an eye-catching headline. He let out a low groan and rubbed his hand across his face.

 

“The Gotham Gazette doesn’t falter on reporting the top-selling stories, as usual,” Oswald groused, “Edward, I’m fine. I didn’t drink any.”

 

“But that’s an attempted assassination of the most powerful figure in Gotham!” Edward retorted, “This is serious!”

 

“To be fair it apparently wouldn’t have killed me.”

 

“That doesn’t matter! You had your life on the line and I… and I… I couldn’t be there with you! Instead I was...” Edward couldn’t finish his sentence, instead sitting on the bed and fidgeting his hands furiously. Oswald swallowed hard; there was a million things he wanted to say right now, but he was too sober and cared too much about Edward.

 

“Edward,” Oswald said, “I know you probably feel guilty about not being at the dinner last night. But rest assured, I’m not upset you weren’t there, because you would have risked your life to, and truth be told… I couldn’t stand to lose you to whatever the madman put in the wine.”

 

“I should have at least acknowledged you last night,” Edward replied, completely straight-faced to Oswald’s comforting smile, “You came home and left without a word. I assumed you were unhappy with me.”

 

“No, no, I’m not. Actually, I wanted to tell you something, something I should have said yesterday.” Before continuing, Oswald breathed in deeply. “I now see that I should be happy for you. You were so excited to meet someone you… love, and I just wanted to act bitter over you turning me down last night. That was unreasonable, and uncalled for, and I’m sorry.”

 

Edward was taken aback by the sudden apology, but gave a subtle smile and nodded. Oswald patted Edward on the back and stood up, grateful the medication would also relieve the throbbing in his leg.

 

“Why don’t you get dressed, then we’ll have breakfast and get to work?” Oswald offered, “You may start without me, I’ll be taking a short bath.”

 

“With pleasure, sir,” Edward said with more eagerness than one usually has when told to get to work. But looking at Edward’s back as he left the room, Oswald’s face had fallen again, the wound in his heart splitting again.

 

Though keeping true to his word, Oswald still took his hot bath. While sitting in the sloshing water, Oswald still felt dirty and disgusted. There were many things he wanted to and should have done, ranging from self-destructive to the path paved with Edward’s blood. His day’s at Arkham nor his position as mayor could never take that part of him away.

 

Yet despite all the emotions he felt, he felt that he could never bring harm to Edward, and despite his attempts, he obviously couldn’t harm Isabelle either. She was a woman with nerves of steel, apparently. Most women of her humble position and stature were easy to sway under Oswald’s fearsome character. Then again, most women didn’t cause Edward to adore them as intensely as Isabelle did.

 

Further into the water, just barely up to his sharp nose, Oswald sank down, soaking in his own misery. While he didn’t lie when he said he was glad edward wasn’t put at risk last night, the absence of his loyal friend still stung. It wasn’t like he expected this to be a date (well, maybe he did a little). 

 

In all honesty, Oswald didn’t expect to be married by this age, if ever, nor to unprecedentedly fall for Edward Nygma. As a child his mother always said,  _ “One day you’ll make a lucky girl a happy wife. I know it.” _ Unfortunately, Oswald’s mother never anticipated that Oswald had no interest in lucky girls, and fate didn’t intend for Oswald to have a happy husband.

 

Oswald snorted bubbles into the soapy water, silently damning fate, damning it all to Hell!

 

\----

 

With a free hour for lunch, as granted by Oswald under the claim he needed some down time, Edward swiftly went to see Isabella. He was able to catch her right as her lunch break started, seeing her exchange quick words with an ancient gentleman, presumably the other librarian. If Edward remembered correctly, his name was Ruben and had owned the library since 1991, while Isabella started five years ago.

 

Looking as fair as ever, she greeted Edward outside with a kiss on the lips. Her lip gloss tasted of strawberry milk, and her hands radiated inviting heat when she momentarily cupped his cheek.

 

“I hope you weren’t waiting for too long,” she apologized with a meek smile, “I had to talk to Ruben and, well, he’s a bit of a chatterbox.”

 

“Not at all,” Edward responded, flashing a smile back and tapping his wrist watch, “In fact, you were right on time. Twelve-thirty on the dot.”

 

“Great, great. So, what would you like to do? Have you eaten already?”

 

“No, I was waiting for you. Olga made egg salad and sandwiches. If it’s alright by you, perhaps we can eat in the park?” Edward help up the cooler with the food, shaking it lightly.

 

“That’s sounds perfect!” Isabella chided, turning to begin down the street, “Now, we should get moving to avoid the lunch rush foot traffic.”

 

“Nonsense,” Edward corrected, placing a hand on her shoulder, “I’ll call a cab. A delicate thing like yourself shouldn’t be walking.”

 

“Oh Edward, you really are the natural Casanova,” Isabella complimented, “I’m not helpless, but if you’re willing to pay, then it’s fine by me.”

 

\----

 

The two took residence in a mildly crowded seating area, sitting across from one another. The weather was fair but cloudy- a typical spring in Gotham. Isabella appeared more than happy to indulge in Olga’s cooking, yet Edward picked at his food just enough to simulate eating.

 

“Do you always go out for lunch, or do you generally eat at the mansion?” Isabella quered, dabbing her the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

 

“Depends on what the day’s schedule is,” Edward replied, “Generally we bring food from the mansion and eat during breaks, similar to what you and I are doing currently. Except for the rare occasions, a more complete meal in had for dinner at the mansion.”

 

Isabella nodded with sincere interest. “So why aren’t you with him now? Do you generally have this much free time for lunch?”

 

“No, but there isn’t any city outings until two, and Oswald said he wanted down time to alleviate some pain, so I’m just going to meet him at City Hall at one-thirty. Said the unpoisoned champagne he had last night caught up to him.”

 

“Yes, I had heard about that. Is he alright?”

 

“Yes, he claims to have not drank a drop of the contaminated drink. No one did.”

 

“That’s good,” Isabella commented, taking a bite into her sandwich.

 

“Though this morning he claimed his leg was acting up, so perhaps he lied down to help with that. Even with the mayor’s salary, it still pains me to see the agony of his face at times.”

 

Isabella took a moment to swallow before replying. “Has he… you know,  _ always _ had that limp? I-I’m sorry for being nosy, it’s probably impolite to impose on such a personal topic, and I’d hate to gossip.”

 

Edward shook his head. “It’s alright,” he corrected, “It started several years ago. A… work-related accident, and his leg never did heal properly. Despite his disability, he’s still an inspiration to this city, and to me personally. I’ve known him for so long. Without him, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

 

“I do admire his determination,” Isabella finished, quieter than before.

 

“Actually, Isabella, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” Edward said, his chest tightening as he mentally filed through the best to worst outcomes this conversation could lead to.

 

“Hm?” Isabella hummed.

 

“Last night, after our date,” Edward breathed, “I came to the realization that I didn’t something that can be perceived as fairly rude.”

 

“Oh Edward, you weren’t-”

 

“Not to you- at least I hope not- to Oswald. I am his house guest, emphasis on the ‘guest’ part. While Oswald did not mention anything to me, I feel like it was wrong to make plans in his home without his explicit permission. And I’m telling you all this in case you were looking forward to having a date similar to that in the near.”

 

There was a moment of silence for Isabella to process this information. She pursed her lips and drummed her fingers on the concrete table rhythmically (a pleasing sound, Edward had learned in little time).

 

“I understand, Edward,” she said finally, “You seem to be very close to Oswald, and I’d hate to get in the way of that. I completely understand where you’re coming from; if I was in your position I’d hate to to take advantage of a friend.”

 

“That’s… that's great,” Edward said, finally taking a bite into his most untouched tuna sandwich, savoring the flavor after not eating for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh so i started uni so idk how often i'm gonna update. I'm gonna try to write a lot this week to update frequently


	4. Two is Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* relationship conflict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw if you've been reading for a while and haven't seen the cover art, go to chapter one. i worked v hard on it

The weeks following the Founder’s Dinner incident were nothing short of wonderful, and had Edward been in a poorer mental state like he was only a month ago, he would assume it was just a beautiful phantasm. Nothing more than a dream come true.

 

But here he was, in the arms of a beautiful and intelligent woman who loved him for who he was, whether he was still the same man he was back in Arkham or not.

 

Their quick wine store hookup had now blossomed into a partnership of genuine companionship and adoration. Even with Oswald on the rare occasion, Edward was quick to get frustrated and annoyed around other people. Social interactions were risky- too many things could go wrong, and it was difficult to see what was right and wrong for every little interaction. They were bad enough in the GCPD, and in his new position he had to talk to strangers even more.

 

Finding someone who understood and worked to suit Edward’s quirks proved to be difficult, but Isabella was patient. She was gentle, she actively worked to see things from Edward’s perspective. It was as if he had known her his whole life.

 

Another great thing about this new relationship was the sex life- or lack of.

 

Edward had spent the night at Isabella’s multiple times, but never once did Isabella seem like she wanted any sexual favors out of Edward. If things got too heated, one or the other would break it up; they had similar limits, and Edward admired that. The last time he had sex on a date it ended as an accidental murder, and Edward was content on clothed cuddling the night away, as was Isabella. It was nice to see Isabella was also preserving modesty by keeping her bedroom door shut, which Edward had no interest in exploring anyways.

 

The hallucinations seemed to have vanished as well. His reflections always followed in the mirror, and the Devil on his shoulder was nowhere in sight. He was, in essence, a free man for once.

 

However, where Edward’s romantic life flourished, his friendship with Oswald had began to wither.

 

While they were still closely intertwined in work, as a mayor and Chief of Staff tend to be, they grew distant outside of work. Every time Edward went out on a date, he noticed that each time Oswald cared less and less about where he was going, just as long as Edward knew the day’s schedule. Aside from breakfast (which too were starting to become rarer) Edward hardly spent his free time with Oswald.

 

Oswald’s general mood did turn sour with time, like a carton of spoiled milk that festers in the back of the fridge. The loving hugs and touches became scarce without as much as an explanation. He retired to his room early and slept later than normal, sometimes skipping breakfast and just having a granola bar in the morning when leaving for meetings or public speakings.

 

As a friend, Edward did confront Oswald about this. Oswald claimed it wasn’t his business to be in Edward’s romantic life, and his change in mood was simply due to the stress of the job.

 

But Edward wasn’t an idiot, and Oswald’s words did not correlate with his behavior in the slightest. He was determined to fix that and save the relationship he had with one of the few people in this world he could stand.

 

\----

 

Edward combed and styled his hair in Isabella’s bathroom mirror, making use of the hair spray Isabella used to hold up her stern updo. Isabella shared the mirror with him as she applied her daily makeup- a minimal routine topped with pink lipstick and the thinnest line of eyeliner to accentuate her eyes.

 

From the other room Edward heard his cell phone audibly buzz from its spot on the coffee table. Before Edward could move, Isabella placed a hand on Edward’s shoulder and slipped passed him.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it for you,” she said, sauntering out to the living room. There was a brief moment of hesitation where the sound of her bare feet tapping against the wooden floor gre silent. Though before Edward began to wonder what was taking her so long she was back and placing the cellphone in his hand.

 

“Did you see who it was?” Edward asked, “I’m sure it was Oswald. I should give him a call.”

 

As Edward reopened his phone, Isabella clasped her hand lightly around Edward’s, guiding his hand downward. She smiled up at Edward, that syrupy smile that Edward couldn’t say no to.

 

“I responded for you,” she assured, “He just wanted to make sure you were at the press conference today. You’re a grown man, and I’m sure he knows that you never miss a scheduled event like that. Finish your hair before it goes out of place.”

 

“Yes, well,” Edward muttered, sliding his phone back into his pocket and Isabella snaked her fingers into intertwining with his, “Of course. We went over our material at dinner tonight, and I promised to review his notes starting thirty minutes before the scheduled time of the conference. He said he was fine.”

 

Isabella grinned, pecking him on the cheek. Edward did finish his hair until it was perfectly slicked back, and with roughly ten minutes to spare before heading back to the mansion to change into his formal suit. Though before he left he turned back to Isabella as she was putting on her jewelry.

 

‘Isabella, I was wondering,” he asked, “Would you, perhaps, like to come to the press conference with me later today?”

 

“Um,” Isabella replied, looking back at the mirror after momentary eye contact, “Well, I have the library, and-”

 

“It’s during your lunch break,” Edward interjected, “I would really like for you to come. I can get so lonely attending those monotonous conferences- not to say that Oswald is a boring speaker, but it’s simpleton garbage that City Hall pushes him to speak about.”

 

Isabella bit her lip and took a moment of reflection, debating on her options. Luckily it didn’t take long before she caved in and her grin returned. “Alright, I’ll go,” she confirmed.

 

\----

 

Edward was right; the speech itself was boring, but the speaker was not.

 

Oswald had been working on this speech about juvenile homelessness correlating with crime rates all week, locking himself in his room for hours last night in order to get it right- and it showed. He radiated confidence; the best he had been in weeks, which gave Edward a bit of hope.

 

While both men (and anyone with half a brain) knew that this city would not actually take action to make the sudden push a reality, it kept the common folk at bay. At least Isabella sat next to Edward in the front row to keep him company. She held onto Edward’s arm tight, resting her head delicately on his shoulder as she watched Oswald give the lengthy speech before the audience, both in person and on the cameras.

 

“Did you write that speech?” Isabella whispered near the beginning.

 

“Oswald did the first draft, I edited and proofread,” Edward replied in an equally low voice, “That’s our usual plan.”

 

“So you basically wrote it.”

 

Edward’s cheeks flushed with pride. “In a sense, I wrote a lot of it, if I may be prideful.”

 

Isabella planted a rewarding kiss on his cheek. “Of course you did. You have such a way with words. So smart.”

 

When the speech was finally concluded, the audience applauded, and Oswald was bombarded with more questions by the bloodthirsty press. At this point Edward stepped up to alert the press that the speech was over, and the mayor was exhausted, and would take no former questions.

 

After all, it was lunch time, and that was an important event that they mustn't be late to.

 

“I can always count on you to watch out for me, Ed,” Oswald thanked once they went behind the curtain that separated the stage and the small bit of breathing room Oswald was allowed. Isabella followed the men back there, re-linking arms with Edward.

 

“And they call the Arkahm staff overbearing,” Edward commented, a grin curling up his lips. Oswald laughed at that, whereas Isabella just smiled politely.

 

“So, miss Isabelle,” Oswald said, turning to Isabella.

 

“It’s ‘Isabella’,” Isabella corrected.

 

“Right, right, Isabella,” Oswald restated, putting extra emphasis on the last syllable, “Edward and I have more business to attend to, so we really must be going. Glad you enjoyed it the conference. Good-bye.”

“Wait, Oswald,” Edward interjected, “I was thinking, if it’s alright with you, that Isabella could come with us for lunch. You see, we’re just going out to a local cafe, nothing too formal. Perhaps we could take a break from work. She’s still on her lunch break, and I thought it would a positive bonding experience for all of us.”

 

Oswald’s smiling expression tightened, just barely holding back his opposing emotions. “Edward, I really think we have some important things to go over, and I’d rather it just be us two.”

 

“Oh,” Edward said, glancing down at Isabella, “I’m so sorry, but-”

 

“No, he’s right,” Isabella agreed.

 

“I-I’m right?” Oswald sputtered.

 

“Three’s a crowd,” Isabella stated, her smile falling, similar to Oswald’s strained expression but was much more noticeable when Isabella displayed it (Edward hadn’t seen this look on her before), “And I have some errands I’d liked to run before I go back to the library. I hope you understand.”

 

Isabella pulled Edward in for a prolonged and deep kiss, wrapping her arms around his midsection tightly to keep him from leaving. However, Edward was in no rush to break the kiss, enjoying the taste of her.

 

Oswald huffed and turned around. “I’ll meet you in the car,” he said, two burly bodyguards following him out the door.

 

After Oswald had left, Isabella was the one who broke the kiss, taking a moment to catch her breath.

 

“See you tomorrow, Edward,” Isabella said, “Enjoy the rest of your day. Eager to hear how you like the book I lent you.”

 

Edward tried to say something to her, but she was already slipping past the silky curtain, dissolving into the thick crowd. That left Edward alone, with the ghost of her lips still on him and an unsettled feeling in his stomach.

 

When Edward met Oswald in the limo, Oswald was already on the phone, sounding very annoyed. “Yes, I need- no!” he groused, “No, no, do not send that _imbecile_ Robin. Isn’t Cory available? He at least knows what a formal business meeting _is_ . I have a meeting with a representative of Wayne Enterprises _tomorrow_ , and my Chief of Staff is using his vacation time then, so I better get _someone_ competent!”

 

Edward sat awkwardly next to Oswald, shifting his hands as they sat cupped in his lap. Oswald would be fine without him, he repeatedly told himself. He was going to have a fun time with Isabella tomorrow at a new restaurant near her home.

 

Unless, of course, Isabella was still mad at him over inviting her to lunch today. That was what worried Edward so, and the worry gnawed at the back of his mind for the remainder of the day.

 

But as it stood right now, Edward’s chances of fixing his relationship with Oswald were growing bleak. That was equally as unsettling.

 

\----

 

Edward followed Isabella into her home, a to-go box from the Vietnamese restaurant clutched firmly in his hands, and momentarily went into the kitchen to store the half-eaten food. When he got back to the living room, Isabella was kneeling on the floor, looking through her VHS tapes to find a movie to watch.

 

The burning question still sat in Edward’s mind, only further searing with anxiety. Isabella seemed normal during dinner, yet Edward was bad with social cues- for all he knew Isabella was waiting to break up with him at just the right moment.

 

No, this couldn't wait any longer.

 

“How does _The Lover Letter_ sound?” Isabella asked, turning her body to show Edward the DVD, tapping on the cover with her long fingernail.

 

“Isabella, are you mad with me?” Edward blurted out. Isabella lowered the VHS and stared at him with a saddening expression.

 

“Oh… oh, Eddie,” Isabella said, her tone even (she never used that nickname before), “Is this still about lunch yesterday? You’ve been acting strange all night. No, I’m not mad.”

 

“Then, then what is it?”

 

Isabella bit her lip as she formulated her words carefully.

 

“I’m just… not comfortable being around Oswald,” she confessed, “Nothing against him- scratch that, I  _do_ have something against him. He's just, well... off-putting, to put it nicely. He, erm, used to be a crime lord, y’know, and I’d rather not associate myself with someone like that.”

 

“I see… but he’s changed-”

 

“I am not going to discuss this any further,” Isabella said, firmer than before, and turning back to the TV, “So, _The Love Letter_ it is.” She put in the video tape and stood up, moving over to Edward. She planted a deep kiss onto his lips, followed by a loving stroke of his strong jawline.

 

During all of this Edward was frozen in his spot, still trying to process what Isabella had just said, and how he must have worried over nothing.

 

“I’ll pop us some popcorn,” Isabella said, her usual calm yet gleeful tone returning. Edward turned his head as he watched Isabella get the popcorn ready in the microwave, acting as if no conflict had even occurred.

 

Surely there wasn’t a reason at all to be worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: my dad was an extra in The Love Letter


	5. Triangulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triangulation (in psychology)- A form of splitting in which one person manipulates a relationship between two parties by controlling communication between them.

No sir, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot did not care one bit about the relationship Edward was happily invested in for more than a month now. 

 

He did not care that Edward was barely home during free time anymore, since he would obviously die if he was away from his dear darling, precious, wonderful, beautiful Isabell-uh.

 

He certainly did not care about all those nights he wished he was the one in Edward’s arms on cheesy dinner dates as he faced the wall during his dinner time.

 

That was all in the past. Oswald was ready to move on, even if he had to leave Edward behind in the process. But letting go had never been so difficult before.

 

In reality, Oswald was hurting, hurting bad. Even in his own home, sharing a living space with his best (and only) friend, he felt alone. The Van Dahl mansion was an expansive and grand one, yet it only took a heartbreak for Oswald to become aware of the empty space. The shadows casted by his father’s old furniture in the light of the fire pit seemed just a bit taller, quiet, empty hallways a bit darker when traversing through them in the night.

 

It’s not like he could talk to Olga- she wasn’t much for conversation. That wasn’t an issue- Oswald didn’t know what he’d even talk about with her. But the more time he spent without Edward around, he began accustomed to watching Olga as she mopped the floors or dusted the surfaces. Oswald found himself ordering more comfort food from her when Edward spent the night out. In a way, Olga resembled a distant motherly figure.

 

However, one night was a change from Oswald’s usual lonely moping, and it only took half a bottle of downed scotch for the change to occur.

 

In his progressively drunk state, Oswald made a request to his limo driver to an unexpected place. A place where sober Oswald would not feel welcome going to just yet, not after the memories of the life he left behind.

 

The apartment of Jim Gordon.

 

At least, he almost went.

 

Oswald stumbled out of the limo, no cane to support his weight on (he’d surely regret that the next morning), and still in the stiff suit he had been wearing all day. From his partially blurred vision, looking up at the complex before him resembled stars in the sky, even though the actual night sky was cloudy.

 

Jim was probably asleep by now, or at least with another new woman in bed (he always was the natural charmer). In his free time, Oswald had found himself reading up on Jim’s latest escapades, and from all the news about him, he had a reason to get some rest (and Oswald thought his relationship problems were bad).

 

It was just a short walk to be back into Jim’s life.  _ ‘He’s right there,’  _ Oswald thought to himself. He could do this.

 

Yet despite how badly he wanted to go up the short set of stairs, he couldn’t, for his willpower wasn’t willing to follow his heart.

 

Tears welled up in Oswald eyes and he rubbed them sloppily with the sleeve of his very, very expensive suit. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t just try to waltz back into Jim’s life again just to compensate for his own broken heart, while the other man had one of his own.

 

The limo ride back seemed two years longer than the ride out as Oswald silently wept into his hands. After letting his emotions out for the duration of the car ride, the feel of the living room couch never felt so good. How queer was it that the same couch where Oswald had an epiphany about the man he loved was the same one where he was in tears over that same man.

 

Oswald did manage to look at the clock on his way in, and saw that it was barely passed midnight. Another thing Oswald was going to regret tomorrow morning: the lack of sleep he was getting due to this intelligent, tall idiot! After reciting a myriad of curses about Edward, Isabella, and everything else going wrong in his life, sleep took over Oswald, plunging him into a coma-like sleep.

 

\----

 

Oswald dreamt about Edward again (he had been dreaming about Edward a lot lately). They were together, sitting in some sort of European villa on the balcony overlooking a crystal blue sea. Hands intertwined, connecting them as they sat in separate deck chairs, watching the sunset.

 

Edward turned to Oswald, the evening sun reflecting off his glasses in a way that was straight out of a romance movie. He smiled across to him, a genuine smile, not the small ones Edward snuck when praising his favorite mayor.

 

Edward spoke, but no sound came out. Reading lips had not been Oswald’s forte, and he was going to ask Edward to repeat his phrase, only to find his own voice was mute as well. Oswald screamed and screamed, but he couldn’t take his hand away, and Edward’s smile hadn’t left his face, even as the world around them was fading away.

 

Oswald bolted up from the couch, heaving and rubbing his eyes. Olga had opened the curtains at some point, and the harsh sunlight was irritating as all hell. Looking around, he was back at the mansion, and the European villa- along with Edward- had vanished.

 

Again, Oswald woke up alone.

 

\----

 

As if Oswald wasn’t already stressed for the mountain of things needed to be accomplished today, all the people he had to meet with in such a short time, Edward came home from Isabella’s late (again). It was as if Edward blatantly ignored all the calls and texts Oswald had sent out that morning.  _ ‘Probably spending more time with Isabella-uh,’  _ he thought indignantly.

 

Well, Oswald was not in the mood for that this morning. Not now, and not anymore.

 

Edward had tried to avoid making too much noise as he went through the door, cushioning the loud sounds as best as he could through slow, calculated movements. According to him, it was to try and not wake Oswald up. Maybe Edward knew he was in trouble, and would act innocent again.

 

But Oswald met him in the front parlor, his arms folded with a severely displeased look on his face. In response, Edward stiffened up, but kept a straight demeanor.

 

“Hello, Edward,” Oswald greeted. Edward blinked at him for that; it was very rare for Oswald to address him by his proper first name by now, as opposed to his shortened, friendly one. “Did you enjoy your night with Isabelle?”

 

“Hello, Oswald,” Edward returned, “As I’ve stated before, her name’s Isabella.”

 

“An honest mistake,” Oswald asserted.

 

“It was fine. We had a marvelous time, and Isabella introduced me to a diamond-in-the-rough Vietnamese place near her home. If you’re not opposed to the idea, you should go with me sometime. It’s a surprise in quality, to say the very least.”

 

The fact that Oswald would go anywhere that woman brought Edward made his skin crawl in disgust. Oswald would’ve take Edward to a  _ much _ nicer restaurant, not some borderline soup kitchen joint!

 

Edward tried to walk past Oswald, but Oswald grabbed onto his arm, partially pivoting on his feet as he did so. The sudden touch made Edward jump, but he kept his composure as he stared back at Oswald.

 

“Is something wrong?” Edward asked innocently.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Oswald demanded, using his best passive aggressive tone.

 

“I am going up to my room to change and prepare for the day,” Edward explained, “I don’t think it would be proper to wear my suit from yesterday- and a casual one at that.”

 

“Well, Edward, that’s just fine. But before you go, I’d just like to know why you did not plan to do this sooner.”

 

Edward raised an eyebrow. “You said that our work day began with us leaving the mansion by nine o'clock for a run down to City Hall to meet with the Director of Public works. It is currently eight fifteen, judging by the clock behind you, and I assumed I would have plenty of time to get ready. Please let me get to that, if you don’t mind.”

 

“No, Edward, if you saw the dozens of calls and texts I sent you, you would know that there was a shifting in schedules, so our meeting was pushed to be  _ at _ nine, instead of nine-thirty. But I guess you were too busy with Isabella to see them.”

 

In a confused panic, Edward fumbled his phone out of his pocket, searching through it for the missed calls. “Y-You… when did you call me?”

 

“Um… I don’t know, seven-thirty?” Oswald guessed. His hangover made everything kind of just happen, without a relation to time, this morning.

 

“You haven’t called me since yesterday morning,” Edward retorted.

 

“Yes, that is precisely- wait, what?” Oswald said, “Give me that!”

 

Without much warning, Oswald snatched Edward’s cell phone out of his hand, much to the dismay of Edward. Like the good Chief of Staff he was though (or perhaps it was just nativity) Edward did not make any physical attempts to take his private belonging back.

 

“Oswald, you are very out of line!” Edward snapped. Edward rarely ever raised his voice at Oswald in such a way that if Oswald wasn’t so mad he’d be offended.

 

In the compact device, Oswald expected to see evidence of Edward blatantly ignoring his messages in order to catch him red-handed. Fuel for Oswald’s invisible battle with the wicked forces of Isabella.

 

Yet Edward was right. There wasn’t a voicemail nor unread text message to be found from this morning (and a lot of messages from Isabella, unfortunately). Oswald truly was out of line at this point as the guilt set in. He plopped the phone back in Edward’s snatching hand as he tried to figure out how he made such a colossal mistake on his part.

 

“Like I was  _ trying _ to say,” Edward huffed, “I believe you may have had the wrong number, or there was an error in connecting our calls. Now if you will kindly excuse me, I’ll do a quick change and we can be on our way.”

 

Haughty and mad, Edward advanced up the stairs and damn near slammed his bedroom door like a moody teenager after being scolded by a parent. As he waited, Oswald sat in a nearby chair with his tail between his legs, puzzling and puzzling.

 

There was just no way that Oswald could have made such an error! He had Edward’s number on speed dial, and had called him dozens of times. The text messages, sure, those could have experienced a delay in being received. But the calls should have left a voicemail (and Oswald didn’t miss any chance to leave one).

 

After what felt like a guilty eternity, Edward came back down the stairs in a new suit, yet the same pissed expression on his face. “Shall we go, mister mayor?” he grumbled.

 

“Wait!” Oswald called before Edward could make it out the front door. Those fierce green eyes that peered through Oswald’s soul made eye contact with him, sending a shiver down his spine.

 

“What?”

 

“Ed, I… I… I’m sorry.”

 

Edward stopped his movements and strided over to meet Oswald in more intimate proximity.

 

“I admit, I was incredibly out of line to take your phone like that and to accuse you of crimes you didn’t commit. Can’t we just go back to the way things were yesterday? Pretend this silly argument never happened?”

 

Edward hesitated, searching the room for answers. Though he was quick to cave in, as he nodded down to Oswald. “I forgive you. You’re my best friend, and I understand you were worried.”

 

A giddy and dumb smile spread across Oswald’s face and he pulled Edward in for a tight embrace. He could smell the fresh cologne and clean suit Edward now wore, and cherished this rare moment of intimacy.

 

Edward, however, was reluctant to hug back, but did so just a little less tighter than he did in the past, and he was not smiling.

 

\----

 

It was a rainy evening in Gotham, and despite both being intelligent and capable people, Edward and Isabella forgot their umbrellas while walking home from the library. In a scene out of a cliched romance movie, they ran home in the rain, their clothes and hair dripping. 

 

Since there was no use in staying gross all night, and she didn’t want her couch to get soaked, Isabella allowed Edward to use her shower while she ran their clothes through the dryer. As Edward was bathing, Isabella decided to brew them some tea (just like Edward liked it) to combat the mucky outside.

 

As she was preparing the cups and saucers, Edward’s phone rang from it’s spot on the counter, where Edward had left it. Like the good girlfriend she was, Isabella answered it for him. Of course, it was Edward’s best friend and employer, Oswald.

 

“Hello,” Isabella chimed, “You’ve reached the phone of Edward Nygma, and this is his loving girlfriend speaking. He’s not here at the moment, but I can take a message.”

 

The call was dropped immediately, giving Isabella a boast of satisfaction.

 

As she had several days ago, Isabella made speedy work of deleting the call history off of Edward’s phone and placing it in it’s previous exact spot on the counter. Just in time for the tea water to be ready for pouring, and for the shower in her bathroom to shut off.


	6. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a total stranger can be mistaken for someone you once knew, like a ghost coming back to haunt you, causing regret of what you should have or could have done. Other times, a person can be a ghost of themselves; a haunting image of the person they once were and would still be if fate wasn't so cruel.

Another day, another chime of the bell indicating Isabella’s library had a new patron.

 

A pretty woman with dark skin in a lab coat- generally not the type that would come to a library on a Saturday afternoon. Dark bags sat under her eyes and her hair was messy, yet even with that she still looked fair. She spent a few minutes pilfering through the shelves, occasionally pulling out a book to preview it. 

 

When the woman looked her way, Isabella turned around and continued tending to the returned books on her cart. Being caught staring at a patron would be embarrassing. It’s not like Isabella could blame herself; the woman’s strange beauty and unusual outfit intrigued her, and Isabella was eager to find out what her story was.

 

“Excuse me?” the woman asked behind her.

 

Isabella pivoted from her spot behind her desk, pushing her reading glasses (annoying things they were, especially when she forgot her contacts). “Yes?” she replied, “How can I help you?”

 

The dark-haired woman- who, upon closer inspection of her name tag, was named Lee- nearly jumped out of her lab coat, her inquiring face morphing into confused fear in a matter of seconds. Isabella furrowed her brow.

 

“K-Kristen?” Lee stuttered.

 

This again. “No, no, I think you’re mistaken,” Isabella assured, using her widest smile to hide her frustration, “My name’s Isabella. I’ve been getting that a lot lately.”

 

Lee let out a heavy sigh of relief. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized, “It’s just the face, and the glasses… I’ve had a long day.”

 

“It’s alright. Apparently I look a lot like a dead woman. Now, what did you need?”

 

“Oh, right, yes. Do you have any books to read about dealing with… loss? Of a loved one?”

 

Isabella gave her best pitying look. “I’m… sorry for your loss. I do have several books on that subject, as well as some more positive self-care books, if that suits your fancy.”

 

Lee smiled a weak, saddened smile. “That would be nice, thank you,” she thanked, “I don’t mean to babble, but I lost my fiance a couple months ago and now… well, it’s been hard. Do you know what that’s like?”

 

Isabella paused. “No, I do not,” she confessed, “Unfortunately I cannot even imagine the pain you must be going through. I would surely crumble if I lost the man I love. You seem like a very brave woman, and I commend you for attempting to move past such an adversity. You have my… deepest condolences.”

 

The two women shared a bath of silence, exchanging reassuring glances, but were interrupted by the sound of Isabella’s cell phone going off near her computer. Thick blush spread across her face and she took a quick glance at the caller ID. To her pleasure, it was Edward.

 

“Oh my goodness, I apologize!” Isabella said, “It’s my boyfriend,  _ again _ . He’s so needy. I told him not to call me during library hours, but here he goes again.”

 

“Men,” Lee scoffed, giving Isabella a joking smirk.

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

\----

 

The air within the Van Dahl mansion was suffocating as of late, and it had only worsened since Oswald’s little stunt with his phone several months ago.

 

They conducted business as usual, of course; even in times of dwindling friendship, there was still work to be done, and in all honesty the two worked well together. But the praises during and outside of work, the meals filled with conversations of mutual excitement, and the exchanging smiles during meetings were distant memories by now.

 

It’s not like Edward hated Oswald. He felt like there was an indivisible part of his very soul that would always feel some sort of connection to the other man, even if they had the biggest fight imaginable. They were two sides of the same card, and nothing could change that.

 

But Oswald was making it really hard to live under the same roof as him. Ever since that cell phone scandal two months ago, Oswald was even more clingy and overbearing than before, much to Edward’s displeasure. Desperately gluing and re-gluing the deep cracks in their bond. Oswald was clearly walking on eggshells around him- when he was sober.

 

While being clingy, Oswald simultaneously cared less about Edward’s feelings, even if he pretended to care. If Oswald really cared about Edward’s feelings, he would give Edward his space. He  _ knew _ Edward got worked up when people gave him too much outside stimulus, yet didn’t want to leave his side. Had all the trust tests and bonding experiences amounted to nothing?  


 

Time after time Edward reminded Oswald with feigning patience about his personal space, yet Oswald wasn’t willing to change. It was sad, really; Edward was Oswald’s only faithful friend, and it was killing him to see Oswald become this sad, pathetic creature strewn before him.  


 

Edward even moved a couple extra changes of clothes and shoes to Isabella’s home by now, preparing for more mornings he’d just meet Oswald where they needed to be that day. Being with Isabella was the one place he felt like he could breathe, where he was safe and secure. It was a domestic lifestyle Edward now knew he was starved of his entire life.

 

He didn’t bother telling Oswald or leaving a note that he was leaving for the evening. Anywhere sounded more inviting than here right now.

 

\----

 

“It’s like he doesn’t even care!” Edward griped, streaking his hands under his eyes in an act of pure frustration.

 

“Oh, poor baby,” Isabella comforted as she rubbed his shoulders from behind the sofa, working hard to remove the kinks and stiffness. She must have been a psychic, for she seemed to always know what to do for Edward.

 

“And I’m trying to keep things moderate between us, I really am, but his incessant pestering has made him lose any sense of boundaries. I just… can’t continue living under the same roof as him. The man I knew before is gone, and I … I don’t know what to do anymore.”

 

“Well, you’re always free to move in here.” Isabella kissed Edward’s high cheekbones tenderly, and raked a hand through his disheveled hair with nails that felt divine after a frustrating day, “I’d never try to take your belongings without permission, y’know. You deserve that privacy. I’d take care of you. We could run the library together, or start somewhere new.”

 

Edward grinned and returned a kiss on the lips to the woman standing over him. It was funny; in light of Oswald’s more… annoying behavior, he really began to appreciate all the little things Isabella did to make him feel safe.

 

“I love you very, very much, Edward. I wish we could stay like this forever. Run away from this miserable city, just the two of us, and never be bothered by anyone ever again.”

 

“As do I.”

 

Isabella grinned, followed by a pepper of kisses on Edward’s face, her lipstick leaving faint marks on his pale skin.

 

\----

 

It was Sunday, and after nearly drowning in the sea of work this week, Oswald was ready to relax on the shore.

 

With Edward’s flaky appearances to help prepare things in advanced, Oswald had to turn to the other dopes down at City Hall to rely on, which was more mentally exhausting than the work itself. Edward knew what to do, and how to do it. He was the only one.

 

But Oswald used a vacation day to sit by the fire, drink whiskey at ten in the morning, and watch a lame reality show. A day of complete and total relaxation in the comfort of his empty, quiet home.  _ ‘I deserve this,’ _ Oswald told himself with a smile. 

 

As he had begin to figure out in these months of the borderline silent treatment he received from his house mate, Oswald could enjoy himself without Edward. He didn’t need anyone to have a good time. If Edward could have a grand time without Oswald, Oswald could do the same (with the help of alcohol and staying in his robe all day to forget the only extremely crushing isolation).

 

The weather outside was brewing a storm overhead, dark clouds mixing and churning to prepare for the oncoming heavy rain. At times like these, Oswald would occasionally sit on the porch and listen to the sounds of drizzling rain in the secluded woods surrounding the mansion, sometimes with a book and sometimes just to doze off. It was moments like those that made the long commute into the city worth it.

 

Time slipped away from Oswald, and without realizing it the weather began to beat relentlessly on the windows, spattering and drenching water on the outside world. The television had sucked Oswald in, despite not being particularly engaging nor thought-provoking- just mindless noise to unwind to.

 

As he was heavily invested in the program, the sight of a figure in the doorway of the open room out of the corner of Oswald’s eye nearly gave him the heart attack of his life when it appeared. Had his glass been full still, his whiskey would have gone everywhere, and Oswald set the glass down before springing to his feet.

 

It was Edward, his dripping hair plastered to the side of his face and his shoes still on his feet. Under normal circumstances, Edward never dared to track mud in the house by keeping his shoes on passed the parlor. But this was far from normal circumstances; something was seriously wrong.  


 

His shoulders were hunched, arms coiling around himself, and he was shaking like a leaf in the wind- and it wasn’t from being cold. His face was paper white in color, as if he had witnessed his own bloody demise in his sleep. He trudged towards Oswald, muttering incoherent nonsense under his breath.

 

“Ed?” Oswald asked, meeting Edward halfway. He slipped out of his robe in seconds, and trying to offer it to Edward. The taller man was in too much of a state of petrified fear to take in, nor even sit down. “W-What, what’s wrong?”

 

When Oswald got closer, he could hear Edward’s muttered mantra more now. It wasn’t a coherent sentence, more like fragments of a bad radio transmission. He was telling himself, “It’s not real,” and, “I can’t hurt her,” as he stared at the wood floor.

 

“Olga!” Oswald hollered, “Bring Edward a towel immediately! And a change of clothes!” He looked back at Edward, his own hands now shaking as he reached out to him. He craved to be intimate with Edward again, but not like this. It was surprising Edward would even want to be near Oswald at this point, much less seek comfort in him. “C-Can I touch you?”

 

Edward nodded, and allowed Oswald to gently hold onto his arms as a way of grounding him in place.

 

“Please, please, tell me: what’s wrong? Why aren’t you with her?”

 

Edward met Oswald’s gaze, a hundred-meter stare that was near terrifying, and his mouth hung open. In a chilling, shaking whisper, he spoke.

 

“I can’t see Isabella anymore.”


	7. Heart-Shaped Eggs, Coffee with Cream, and Bright Red Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meals are important, but they feel even more special when shared with someone you love, and whether it's special in a good or bad way, it'll be special nonetheless.

A simple surprise breakfast the day before Isabella left for her conference. That’s all it was; nothing more, nothing less.

 

He made them both heart-shaped eggs (how cliche) and brewed fresh coffee, all while Isabella was getting ready for her work day. Edward didn’t exactly understand these mushy romantic things all the time, but it was a sure way to convey his affection clearly after several months of a happy relationship. If Isabella was happy, he was happy.

 

They were conversing like one normally did at breakfast with a loved one, enjoying each other’s company before their brief time apart for the next few days. Isabella said she’d call, and Edward was eager to answer (that is, if his phone wasn’t acting up like it had been lately).

 

Through the progression of their conversation, Edward inquired about what exactly a librarian did at a librarian’s conference. He had never heard of such a thing, so he hadn’t the faintest idea what occurred their.

 

“It would bore you,” Isabella insisted as Edward walked over to her seat to hand her the cream for her coffee.

 

“Nothing that you would say, do, or think could bore me,” Edward replied, finishing his sentence with a kiss.

 

“In that case,” Isabella said with a smile, “Let me read you my schedule.”

 

Edward made an excited sound, eager to hear what Isabella’s routine would consist of. As she pulled out the paper from her purse nearby, Edward added a dash of cream to his coffee. At first Edward wasn’t a fan of cream in any of his drinks, but the taste had grown on him recently. It was a nice addition, he learned.

 

Isabella cleared her throat, and as she did so, Edward met her eyes again. Though now her eyes were shielded by thick-rimmed glasses, looking a lot like…  _ her _ glasses. Edward’s throat went dry.

 

“Where did those glasses come from?” Edward asked.

 

“These?” Isabella said, taken aback by Edward’s sudden comment, “These are my backup pair. I normally wear contacts. Come on, I’ve told you before; you should know that.”

 

Edward didn’t, or more like couldn’t, respond. He just stared at Isabella across the short table, static ringing in his ears.

 

“Is something wrong?” Isabella wondered.

 

No response again. Isabella now took note of Edward’s furiously shaking hands as they rocked the table.

 

“Edward, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

Isabella tried to grab Edward’s hand, but he pulled her hand away as if her flesh seared like hot iron. Without anything beyond a quiet phrase to excuse himself, Edward absconded from the table while his head spun. He locked himself into the bathroom, making sure Isabella didn’t follow him in.

 

His breaths were ragged as he paced in the compact bathroom space. He felt sick to his stomach, like he was going to throw up his stomach and lungs any second now. The past was clawing at his innards, and his mind was in pieces.

 

Edward clutched the sides of the sink with white knuckles and stared into his reflection. It was following him, that was good. He hung his head, and muttered to himself, “It’s just a pair of glasses.”

 

This was okay. He could do this. He had been fine for months now, so why should such a minor wardrobe change make such a difference? Edward was in control of his mind, and he was not going to ruin another relationship.

 

“I remember you loved that style on me.”

 

That voice! Edward whipped his head back up to find Kristen Kringle in the flesh standing behind him with a sly grin.

 

Edward gaze a momentary look back to find that she wasn’t actually in the flesh; there was no one in the bathroom but himself. When he returned back to the mirror she was still there in his mind, taunting him.

 

“Oh dear,” Edward gasped, on the verge of hyperventilating.

 

“I haven’t upset you, have I, Ed?” Kristen chided with pretend concern, “I would have thought  _ you _ would be used to seeing people in mirrors.”

 

Edward lifted his trembling hand, as if blocking her spot on the mirror would make the hallucination go away. “You’re just in my head,” he told himself.

 

“Like that makes a difference,” Kristen continued, “But honestly, besides the fact that she looks just like me, you went from someone who files papers in a police station to someone who files books in a library. Not super original.”

 

“You and Isabella are… You’re somewhat different,” Edward assured- though he wasn’t sure his he was assuring the hallucination or himself. Neither were very effective.

 

“Well, I’m dead, and… she’s alive. But how long will that last? Until you…” Kristen finished her remark with cupping her hands around her throat and letting out a vile gagging sound.

 

“I would… never hurt Isabella!” Edward retorted.

 

“But you would have said the same thing about me,” Kristen taunted, “Face it, Ed. You’re a killer. It’s only a matter of time before-”

 

Edward tried to block out her voice. The world felt like it was spinning, giving Edward an intense feeling of vertigo that he hadn’t had since he was in Arkham. Maybe if he shut his eyes she’d go away, but even he knew that wasn’t true. He couldn’t hide from his own mind.

 

“Edward? Are you alright?”

 

The call was followed by a knock, and when Edward momentarily broke his gaze from the mirror to look at the door, Kristen vanished, and her sentence unfinished. He was alone again.

 

There was no time to talk to Isabella. Edward barged out of the bathroom and ignored her barrage of questions about his well-being. He just couldn’t be here with her right now, no matter how much he wanted to have a nice morning.

 

“I’ll see you in a few days,” Edward said on his way out, slamming the door behind himself before Isabella could say anything else.

 

When Edward was outside in the morning on an impending storm, he felt like a caged animal that escaped the clutches of deadly poachers. His mind was rushing with nonsense information, and he knew that he needed to get home now.

 

It didn’t take more than thirty seconds outside for Edward to vomit into a nearby trashcan, then followed by hailing the first taxi he saw. He ignored the cab driver’s questions on if he was alright, as his mind felt outside of his body, disconnected from reality.

 

He needed to see Oswald.

 

\----

 

Edward had calmed down by now after gushing about his intense morning, for lack of better words. He had removed his blazer and wore the robe Oswald gave him, the feeling of running his fingers over the smooth fabric soothing for him. Olga had brought him a towel to sit on a while ago, and Oswald was close by his side, holding onto his hand.

 

“Maybe she’s right,” Edward said, following the period being silent for nearly three minutes after calming down, “What if there’s something about Miss Kringle’s- Kristen’s-  _ Isabella’s face _ .” Oswald squeezed his hand to ground him and get his words back on track, seeing as Edward was getting worked up again. “What if there’s something about her face that unlocks this side of me. What if I do hurt?”

 

Oswald nodded as he spoke, a hint of a smile on his face despite acting concerned. Edward removed his hand and furrowed his thin brows. “Oswald,” he said.

 

“Yes?” Oswald replied, clueless.

 

“You’re smiling.”

 

Oswald’s face dropped. “I-I was?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh,” Oswald said, his mouth gaping like a fish silently for several moments, “Well, I was just thinking… how darned lucky Isabella is. You love her, yet to protect her, you’re willing to break up with her. Beautiful. Sad, but beautiful.”

 

“So you think I should break up with her?”

 

Oswald inhaled. “I’m, I’m sorry, I thought that’s what you were implying. Certainly I would never question-”

 

“No, you’re right,” Edward agreed, staring at the crackling fireplace beyond Oswald’s shoulder. It felt like a lifetime ago he was here with Oswald, following his brush with Death at the hands of Butch- literally. He wore this same robe- the one that Oswald inherited from his father, and was his favorite robe (even though it was a bit small on Edward’s elongated, lanky frame).

 

Edward looked back at Oswald. “If I did hurt her, I’d never forgive myself,” he said woefully.

 

Oswald bit his lip as he listened to Edward’s lament. “Yes, such is fate to put her in your path, only to snatch her-” he added.

 

“I can’t do it,” Edward groaned, burying his face in his hands, “I can’t break up with her.”

 

“But you said yourself-” Oswald retorted.

 

“I need you to do it for me,” Edward explained, voice weary from the unfortunate events of this morning, as if he was on the verge of tears again, “Would you do that for me? I know that our relationship has not been on the best of terms as of late, and we both have done… not so great deeds to one another. But I’d be forever in your debt. Just be gentle.”

 

Oswald’s wide smile appeared again, and he patted Edward’s thigh affectionately. “Of course,” he promised, “Go get some sleep. You’ve gone through a lot of mental trauma this morning, and you’re deserving of a nice long nap. Olga did sheets last night, so I’m sure they’ll feel wonderful.”

 

Edward returned a meek grin, quietly excusing himself to retreat to his bedroom. Oswald was right- as soon as he slipped into dry, comfortable clothes, he immediately fell into a deep slumber, just what he needed.

 

While he did sleep for a long time, his dreams still didn’t feel right, despite not being particularly sad or scary. In the most notable one, he was sitting with Isabella on a hill in the middle of open plains that stretched on for miles, enjoying a picnic with her. Isabella reached into the basket, pulled out a bright red apple, took a bite, then offered it to Edward.

 

Edward did take up the offer, savoring the juicy flesh of the fruit and feeling it dribble down his chin. Isabella laughed at him, then proceeding to playfully wiping the juice off with her finger, popping it in her mouth afterwards.

 

Sure Edward was having a good time- at least he thought he was- yet there was a nagging feeling that this wasn’t right.

 

Then again, it was probably because Isabella was wearing her reading glasses again, and that was fine with Edward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk why I mention food so much in this chapter. But writing about eggs and apples make me hungry....... -w-


	8. When the Pharoh Remained Unmoved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a sore loser always gives your enemy a lot more power over you, and sometimes a winner won't always face an enemy they can defeat.

While Oswald could keep his concerned demeanor around Edward (he was a master of wearing masks, as any good mayor is), in his mind he was practically leaping with joy.

 

This was the chance he was waiting for. All the heartache and months wallowing in his own pathetic demeanor would pay off. He could get rid of that vile vixen standing in his way _and_ have another shot at telling Edward the feelings that had been festering within for months. Truly, fortune favored those who waited.

 

There was an extra spring in his step, a reason to stand taller, as he approached the door of Isabella. Personally, he’d want to be anywhere but meeting her face-to-face, but love drives a man to scale great heights, as his mother used to say.

 

Two, three knocks and Oswald took a step back to wait, putting on the most polite and controlled smile he could. Sure enough, the locks were un done and the door swung open, revealing the blonde beast before him.

 

“Mayor Cobblepot?” Isabella said, looking up and down at him with slight confusion.

 

“Hello, Isabella,” Oswald greeted, motioning beyond the doorway, “May I?”

 

“Um, of course.” Isabella stepped aside, and Oswald stepped in with his cane thumping on the wooden floor. The smell was foreign, and reminded Oswald of his mother’s house without any of the homey charm.

 

No, this smelled liked a craft store. Oswald wrinkled his nose at that, and the cheesy décor (Barbara would get a kick of this grandma-esque furniture!) How could Edward stand this woman.

 

Oswald noticed the large suitcase near the doorway on his way in. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

 

“Just for a couple nights,” Isabella explained, “But I was hoping to talk to Ed before I left. I, um, tried calling him, he left in such a hurry. Is he okay?”

 

Oswald pivoted on his heel once he was close to her kitchen. He noticed that both doors in the smaller hallway adjacent to the living room were closed. _‘Who keeps the doors shut when living alone? Weirdo,’_ Oswald thought.

 

“Yes, well, how shall I put this?” he wondered, “It’s over.”

 

Isabella’s face froze. “Excuse me?”

 

“He is not going to see you anymore. Do not try to contact him. That door is closed. Have a nice life.”

 

Isabella covered her mouth and took a seat on the ugly, over-stuffed couch. Oswald could practically see her heart split in two, and he relished every moment.

 

“It is a shock,” Oswald continued, “But besides your odd resemblance to his ex, a certain facility with riddles, compulsion for order…” He lost his train of thought as he noticed the return of that damn paper people chain from months ago, sitting on the coffee table. Her obsession with Edward truly was disgusting, and Oswald resisted the urged to rip such an insignificant thing to shreds.

 

“What is it that you know really have in common? Edward is a person of exceptional intelligence and imagination. He deserves to be appreciated by someone on his own level. And you, my dear, are simply not. Best to end things now.”

 

Isabella took her hand away and looked up at Oswald silently, the sadness gone from her face just like that. It kind of freaked Oswald out- her eyes were like wide windows that stared him down as she stood.

 

“You’re right,” she said, quietly, “I don’t deserve him.”

 

“G-Glad we agree,” Oswald said, standing his ground despite the large height difference, “Good-bye.”

 

“But neither do you,” Isabella insisted.

 

“I-I don’t think you understand-“

 

“I know how you see him. You love him too, and I’m not even jealous. But you claim to think Edward would be suitable for someone like you, yet… you hurt him.”

 

Oswald’s throat ran dry. “Watch it,” he gritted.

 

“Edward told me all about how inconsiderate you are of him. First you take his phone without permission, then you constantly invade his personal space, fawn over him, and want to ruin his chance at happiness. Does that sound like love to you, Mr. Mayor?”

 

Oswald hardly noticed that Isabella was forcing him to back up until his elbow hit the wall. “What about those messages I sent him? The calls? Funny how those just seem to disappear, isn’t it, Ms. Librarian?”

 

Isabella’s pursed her lips in faux worry, then cracking into a grin. “Oh no, oh dear me. Whose Edward going to believe? The man who repeatedly lied to him and betrayed his trust, or the woman who has loved and cared for him so diligently. You don’t even have proof, yet here you are again trying to slander me. I would _never_ deliberately mess with Edward’s phone.”

 

Oswald fell silent, clutching the top of his cane so tight that it was on the verge of shattering into a million pieces.

 

“He loves me, and I love him. Do you know how rare that is, Mr. Mayor? Of course you do, because you love him too. Ah but… then again… what do _you_ know about love?”

 

Oswald was beet red in the face and steam billowed out of his ears and nose.  He grabbed Isabella by the collar of her tight dress and came practically nose-to-nose with her.

 

“Listen to me, you little _idiot_ ,” he hissed, “I am telling- no, _demanding_ \- one last time. Let. Ed. Go.”

 

Isabella calm expression did not falter, as if she wasn’t afraid of the most powerful man in Gotham. “No,” she stated, “I will write to him. I will make him understand he has nothing to fear. I’m not going to let him go.”

 

Oswald inhaled sharply. “Very well,” he said, pushing past the tall woman to go out the front door, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

He slammed the door behind himself, forcing him to have the last word.

 

\----

 

Angry could not even begin to describe what emotions Oswald was going through now. Angry could not amount to how utterly furious he was that that woman not only stood up to Oswald fearlessly, but intimidated him. Hurt, furious, disgusted, embarrassed, jealous- a mix of all of those might describe it.

 

He found himself screaming his lungs out into his pillow, pounding on the mattress of his secluded bedroom- something he hadn’t done since his grade school years. Had Edward not been sleeping in the next room or in the vicinity at all, he would be content with letting his frustrations out in the open (Olga never cared, it seemed).

 

Isabella had power over Oswald, which is not a term given to people who knew Oswald lightly. Isabella had Edward coiled around her pretty little finger, and Oswald could not stand that he couldn’t do anything about it.

 

How dare she take his Edward away? Out of anyone in the city who happened to shop for wine that night, and Edward just had to meet the woman who looked like his dead ex and was perfect in every way in his eyes.

 

After his throat was sore from his mini tantrum, he grabbed his cell phone from the dresser, and scrolled through his contacts until he went to the ‘G’ section.

 

His fingered hovered over the button to call Gabe. Just one call, and he could have Isabella taken out, just like that. This was Gotham. It was that easy to have a little “friendly competition” taken out.

 

But Oswald found himself closing the phone and throwing it at the edge of his bed.

 

Killing a nobody librarian was a rather simple task, easy to make it look like an accident. Oswald could tell Gabe to cut the brakes of her car, and in no time, she’d no longer be a problem. Oswald has dealt with children who were tougher to get rid of that Isabella. Then once she was out of the way, he’d have Edward all to himself.

 

No, he couldn’t do it, just like he couldn’t visit Jim Gordon in a feeble attempt to rekindle their relationship. Edward would find out if her killed her, and then he would never forgive Oswald. Then both would be without the love of their lives.

 

Hot tears welded up in his eyes and he covered them with the long sleeve of his button-up. He let out more of his bottled-up emotions until sleep overtook him, leaving him alone in his expansive bed, still in half a formal suit.

 

For the first time in a very, very long time, Oswald Cobblepot was utterly powerless against an enemy he can’t beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka this in an au where Oswald actually thinks about the consequences of killing Isabella, and acts like a rational human being (screw you canon)


	9. Breaking Things Into Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some wounds just can't be healed.

As if by miracle, Oswald woke up right before the creak of a nearby door echoed through the vacant hallways. Excited to see Edward for the first time in forever, he bolted out of his room as Edward was just closing the door behind himself. He appeared to be well rested by now, which breathed relief into Oswald.

 

“Oswald,” Edward said as he fidgeted his hand in his pant pocket- most likely his cell phone, as he’s been much more secretive of it lately (and Oswald couldn’t blame him). The tone of his voice hinted at being uncomfortable. _‘He must still be shaken up,’_ Oswald assured himself.

 

“Ed,” Oswald returned, beaming, “I see that you managed to compose yourself.”

 

“Yes,” Edward replied, giving a tiny smile back, “Sleep did… it did wonders for me.”

 

The suit Edward was wearing and the tone in his voice didn’t immediately register with Oswald as odd. However, what was strange was Edward’s feet. Instead of the house slippers he wore when he didn’t plan to do out, he was wearing his shiny formal shoes. Oswald cocked his head.

 

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

 

Edward breathed. “Yes, well, it is a place indeed that I intended to go to.”

 

“Then let me get dressed and we can go together,” Oswald replied, beaming, “No use venturing out by yourself.”

 

The corners of Edward’s mouth drooped. “Actually, I would… rather go by myself,” he insisted.

 

Confusion swept across Oswald’s face. “Why? Where are you going?”

 

Edward fumbled and tripped over his words as he tried to form a coherent thought, involving a lot of “um” and “well” words. Oswald gave him time to prepare his words, waiting patiently but simultaneously eager to hear why Edward was acting so strangely.

 

“I received a message from… from Isabella,” Edward confessed, and Oswald’s heart sank, “She said that she wanted to speak with me. Privately. Said it was very important, and that I must be there soon.”

 

The feelings Oswald repressed earlier began to bubble up again, as that woman was still a problem. He gritted his teeth and his concern melted.

 

“Ed,” he said, “Do you not remember what happened this morning? You could have another mental breakdown!”

 

“I’m fine now,” Edward retorted, “I know you did talk to her, and I thank you for that, but I need to talk to her face-to-face. You did tell her about… you know?”

 

“Of course, I did,” Oswald lied, “But she wouldn’t listen. Ed, please, listen to me when I say she is bad news.”

 

Edward’s eyes darkened. “Oswald?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“What _did_ you say to her?”

 

The saliva in Oswald’s mouth went dry. “I told her that you were breaking up with her, and…”

 

“And… Oswald?” Edward was now much closer than before, close to bumping chest with Oswald, towering over him, “Please don’t lie. I want you to be honest.”

 

Oswald audibly gulped. “That you… don’t deserve someone… like her. N-Not in the sense that you two aren’t, um, made for each other. Heaven’s no! I’m glad you found someone who loves you. It’s just that she brings you too much psychological torment, a-a-and- “

 

Edward pushed passed Oswald before he could finish. “I knew it,” he muttered to himself.

 

Oswald followed closely behind, the pain in his leg aching with every step without his cane. “W-What? Was it something I said?”

 

As the two men reached the door, Edward abruptly turned around, Oswald almost crashing into him in the process. “It was a terrible idea to send you to her,” Edward said.

 

“Pardon?” Oswald replied.

 

“I knew you didn’t like her, and she… well frankly she didn’t trust you either, with your criminal past.”

 

“And she didn’t care about yours?!” Oswald huffed.

 

“Oswald, if I may be frank, our crimes vary greatly in intensity and body count. She has every right to be afraid of you.”

 

Now it was Oswald fumbling over his words. “I, well, you- what is with you today? I thought we were friends; Arkham brothers! You’re not even a little bit suspicious of the woman who fell in love with a _psychotic murderer_ at first sight and says everything you want to hear? Please believe me!”

 

Oswald just now noticed he raised his voice and was looking Edward dead in the eyes, his chest rising and falling harshly. The hurt on Edward’s face made him realize his terrible mistake, and the shaking in his hands was no longer from rage.

 

“You’re right,” Edward said quietly, “I thought we were friends too. Guess I was wrong.” He turned back around and opened the door without any hesitation, leaving Oswald frozen where he stood. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t follow me. Good-bye, Oswald.”

 

Oswald remained there for what seemed like several years, motionless as if glued to the floor. This wasn’t like when he took Edward’s phone. No, this was much, much worse. There wasn’t any chance for an apology now.

 

He royally screwed up.

 

No, no tears, Oswald told himself repeatedly as he stormed back up to his room. There wasn’t even any time to throw something around. He needed to go as soon as possible. He donned a coat to cover his sloppy, half-dressed appearance, and grabbed his cane and wallet.

 

As he headed downstairs, Olga was standing in the doorway of the living room, a duster in one hand. She appeared worried.

 

“Everything good, Mister Kapelput?” she asked, her accent as thick as always. With her limited English, she most likely couldn’t understand most of what the two were saying. However, she heard enough to know something happened. “I hear screams.”

 

Oswald blinked hard to fight back the tears. “Everything is great, Olga,” he replied, “You can go home for the night. Appreciate your service as always.”

 

“Da,” Olga said, nodding as she retreated into the kitchen to grab her own purse and coat, leaving Oswald alone again.

 

Thankfully, the limo driver, Sharon, was still here, smoking a cigarette when Oswald stormed out. Oswald was taken aback by her presence. “Ed… he didn’t…?” he asked.

 

“Took a cab,” Sharon replied as she threw out her cigarette, “Need to go somewhere, Sir?”

 

“Yes,” Oswald replied, “Take me to the bar of your choice.”

 

 ----

 

Even four shots of hard whiskey weren’t enough to wash down the misery in Oswald’s mind, each one almost making the searing pain behind his eyes worse.

 

 Edward had left him for good now. It was a wound that he could never repair, even if he was right and Isabella was bad news. There was no telling if Oswald could even keep Edward around for work anymore. This lonely future terrified Oswald, and he ordered another shot.

 

This bar wasn’t exactly _The Sirens_ , but it wasn’t as run down as Oswald expected. Sharon apparently had good taste, as this was a modernized bar with shiny counters and minimalist décor. Though if the alcohol was there and good, Oswald didn’t mind. He didn’t care enough to mind right now.

 

As he down his next drink to forget, he noticed that someone sat next to him, which wouldn’t be so weird if he wasn’t the only one sitting at the counter until now. With a glance, over after putting down the glass, he saw that it was a woman.

 

She had fiery red hair put up into a bun, and her entire outfit down to her eyeshadow and dress was bright green. She gave a wide grin to Oswald, her thin red lips (funny how she didn’t make them green) stretching.

 

“Hiya,” she greeted, “This seat taken?” It took too much mental power to process if this was a good idea, but Oswald nodded. When he looked her in the eyes, her smile fell. “Geez, what’s with you?”

 

“Nothing much,” Oswald muttered, “Just trying to forget. I take it you’re here to meet men, seeing as you’re alone.”

 

The woman pursed her lips and cocked her head in momentary thought. “Yeah, kinda,” she giggled, “The name’s Ivy. Ivy Pepper, but I hate being called Miss Pepper. That’s my mom’s name. What’s yours?”

 

“Oswald… Cobblepot.”

 

Ivy furrowed her brow and stared at Oswald firmly. “Are you gonna cry?”

 

“What?”

 

“’Cause you look like you’re gonna cry.”

 

Luckily the bar was relatively empty, because that was exactly what Oswald started doing in front of a woman he met only a minute ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivy's finally here!


	10. A Good Friend Is Cheaper Than Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartbreak and hangovers may sting, but friendship and hot chocolate are always sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayy Oswald finally has another friend

By the time Oswald had let out every tear he was physically able to usher, Ivy was practically bored to tears. She came here to pick up men and cheat them out of their money, not be a shoulder to cry on for some guy. He didn’t even like women, so her chances were next to nothing.

 

However, she really did feel sorry for the dude. Ivy never really was into dating, but Selina told her about her relationship with Bruce a couple times, so she had a decent grasp of it. By the sounds of it, romance for old people was way more complicated. Lots of rules and drama. Not really for Ivy.

 

No, the mere thought of trying to squeeze money out of him made her feel icky. She could go home empty-handed tonight, or swing to a nearby club on her way home if she was feeling up to it.

 

Plus, Oswald had a hell of a story to tell about his misfortune with love, Arkham, and lots of alchoholism.

 

Oswald put his head down on the bar and sighed, the amount of alcohol he had starting to catch up with him. Ivy patted his shoulder comfortingly.

 

“So… what are you gonna do about her?” she asked, “That lady who took your man.” Oswald grumbled something incoherently from the cave in his folded arms, and Ivy leaned in closer. “What?”

 

“I wanna kill her!” Oswald hissed as he snapped his head up.

 

Ivy scratched the back of her neck. “Why don’t’cha?”

 

“Because I _can’t_.”

 

“I mean, yeah, sure the law and all-”

 

“I don’t care about that!” Oswald fumed as his words began to slur, pounding his fist on the counter, “I _can’t_ because if I did, Ed would _hate_ me. _For good!_ She’s untouchable, and I can’t do anything about it. It’s driving me mad!”

 

Ivy leaned back to create distance from Oswald as he got more agitated than ever, scared at how much hatred was in this tiny little man (and Ivy thought Selina was scary when she was mad). Oswald took a deep breath and sulked again. Round and round, Oswald swished his last sip of whiskey in the glass, staring at it mournfully.

 

“I just… I don’t understand,” he croaked, on the verge of tears he can no longer cry once more, “He wanted her- that relationship- so much. I just don’t understand _why…_ why does he want that life again? I did everything for him, yet… yet it never was enough.”

 

Ivy frowned and tapped a finger to her chin. “Come here,” she said, and pulled Oswald into a gentle hug. Surprisingly, Oswald hugged back with genuine force, dampening her bare shoulder with his wet cheek. Made her wonder how long he had been hugged- his life sounded lonely.

 

After an intermission of silent embracing, Oswald pulled away, rubbing his eyes with his shirt sleeve. His cheeks were as pink as his eyes were red, yet he tried to order another shot. Ivy lowered his hand before he could signal the bartender, concerned that she’d have to call 911 for alcohol poisoning.

 

“Why don’t you just accept him as he is?” Ivy offered.

 

“Huh?” Oswald grunted.

 

“That Edward guy. If that woman is as bad as you say she is, then they’ll probably break up on their own. He sounds smart enough to. Who knows, maybe he feels the same about you? Just gotta wait for your turn; like baseball!”

 

Oswald sniffled and wiped his nose, nodding as Ivy spoke. “Y-Yeah… yeah you’re right,” he replied, “If only it was that easy. I called him something so terrible. No doubt he hates me now.”

 

The look of confusion returned to Ivy’s face. “Friends make mistakes, don’t they?” she retorted, “This one friend I have gets mad and sometimes insults me, like ‘Ivy, you idiot!’ or ‘What were you thinking, you dope?’ But we always make up afterwards, even if she doesn’t say anything. He should forgive you eventually.”

 

“Well, he’s the smartest idiot I’ve ever met, I guess,” Oswald commented, “No one can out-smart him, but he doesn’t understand those things like you and me do. Forgiveness is not in his nature.”

 

He felt horrible, like he had eaten a bowl of rocks and they were sitting in the pit of his stomach, cold and heavy, weighing his spirit down. His head hammered onto his frontal lobe, and everything felt fuzzy, like his television during a storm.

 

Being here with Ivy, whom he just met, was probably a bad idea. For all he knew she could be a spy from Butch or one of his other enemies to try to kill him. Yet his BAC spoke otherwise, and the cathartic effect of talking to Ivy did feel good in his belly. So, he decided not to worry about it.

 

However, when the alcohol really began to catch up to Oswald, and he was ready to vomit, he did something so moronic and dangerous that sober Oswald wouldn’t do in a million years.

 

He turned to Ivy, eyes lidded and swaying ever so slightly in his seat, just as Ivy had finished off her second Coke that night.

 

“Wanna come back to my place?”

 

\----

 

The morning came in like a lion, and the harsh sunlight attacked Oswald as it poured on him. Immediately he had an intense feeling of vertigo, and it took some time to adjust to his surroundings.

 

He was back at his mansion, yet not in his bed. He had been sleeping on the couch, still fully clothes and his shoes kicked off several feet away from him. Oswald curled and held his head, irritated at the massive headache that plagued him, but sat up reluctantly.

 

Whatever led him into this situation was a mystery to Oswald. It was as if some terrible culprit came to him while he slept and cut the memory out with scissors. Oswald looked at his lap, scanning around in his mind for clues. He was at a bar, yes, and he was alone. At least, he was alone until a… person sat with him, and-

 

He remembered now. He remembered that Edward still hated him and that he fucked up his entire love life and friendship just yesterday.

 

Rubbing his eyes, Oswald forced himself to get up, as wobbly as he was on his feet. An inviting smell radiated from the kitchen nearby, and the corners of Oswald lips turned up ever so slightly. He felt like he was young again, when his mom would make him a hearty breakfast before he went off to school.

 

While he never grew up with American-styled breakfasts, and sometimes money was too tight to have much of anything in the morning, breakfast was always comforting. Sausages were an especially great treat, though he never once complained at ever common toast and cheese combination. His mother would kiss him on the top of the head, tell him he was her pride and joy and that she loved him more than life itself- her little _liebling_.

 

Oswald wished she was still alive, for more reasons that one. One of those reasons was to see the look on her face when he could show her how far he’s come, and give her the life of luxury she always deserved, where she can grow old and die a peaceful life.

 

Now Olga did not have the affection nor maternal aura that his mother had, but the smell of breakfast was good enough for now. He wandered into the kitchen in his trance, his vertigo starting to fade by now.

 

“Olga, you angel-” he began to say, but froze when he saw what lied before him.

 

Olga was there indeed, working away at preparing breakfast and gave a small glance to Oswald. That didn’t catch Oswald off guard, though. What did catch him off guard was the redhead sitting at his kitchen counter, sipping away at some hot chocolate. She was wearing one of Oswald’s old night shirts, and from where he was Oswald couldn’t tell if she was wearing pants. Her face lit up when she saw him enter the room and waved.

 

“Hiya Ossie!” she chirped, “Olga offered me breakfast, if that’s okay with you. You were out so hard that I didn’t wanna bother ya. Olga got some asprin out for you and she’s making sausages and eggs.”

 

“Da,” Olga replied before turning back to her work.

 

All this new information was close to giving the very, very hungover mayor sensory overload. He rubbed the space between his eyes. “Wait, I know you,” he grumbled.

 

“Duh, yeah you do. Y’know, from last night? We met at that bar?”

 

Oswald’s eyes widened. “W-Wait… did we… y’know?”

 

Ivy narrowed her eyes. “Do what?”

 

Was this girl stupid? Oswald was not in the mood to simplify these things. “Did we _fuck_?”

 

Ivy straightened up, her mouth pursing. “No need for the language, Mr. Grumpypants, and that’s gross!”

 

“Then _why_ are you here?”

 

“You invited me to come over,” Ivy explained, “I was gonna try to squeeze money out of you last night, but you started crying and babbling about this Ed guy, so I figured I wasn’t your type- or gender. I felt bad for you; you looked really upset, and I like you. So, I came home with you and you tossed one of your shirts at me then passed out drunk on the couch.

 

“I think we were up until, like, midnight, and to be honest, I had no idea what you were talking about for a while. Lotta talk about murdering that girl, and _a_ lot about another guy named Jim. I think you broke something in your room; shattered it against the wall while trying to find a shirt for me. When you went out, I slept on the arm chair since you didn’t say where I could go, and now here we are.”

 

Ivy finished her statement with a wide, toothy grin, and took another gulp of her hot chocolate, as if what she just said wasn’t weird at all. The red flags this should have given off were nowhere to be seen, and Oswald trusted this childish woman for some odd reason.

 

He turned his attention to Olga. “Did you call down Ed yet?” he asked. _‘Though I doubt he wants to see me,’_ he finished in his mind.

 

Olga shook her head. “He no here,” she responded, “Is he staying with girlfriend?”

 

Oswald sighed. “No, she left town. But I don’t blame him if he chose to stay somewhere over night. I’ll let him know I still expect him at work today.”

 

He slid in next to Ivy at the counter- a huge break from his routine, as he always ate breakfast formally in the dining room, not at the counter like some child. Yet he found himself fine with this change in pace, and enjoyed a breakfast of sausages as thick as Olga’s fingers and eggs as he made small talk with this new woman in his life.

 

At some point in the duration of the conversation, Oswald got a funny feeling that Ivy still didn’t really know who he was, beyond from the drunk, crying man she met last night.

 

“Ivy?” he asked, “Do you… do you know _who_ exactly I am? Like, my job?”

 

Ivy’s head cocked. “No, you never said anything about your job, besides Ed being your chief of something.”

 

“Do you know who is the current mayor of Gotham?”

 

“I don’t watch the news.”

 

Oswald breathed, the suspicion that she’s a spy still nipping in the back of his mind. “I’m the mayor, Ivy. My name is Oswald Cobblepot, and Ed is my Chief of Staff.”

 

Ivy’s green eyes sparked with surprise, but gave no reaction beyond that before she went back to her breakfast.

 

“Ohhh,” she said, “That’s why you’re so rich.”


	11. Thirty-Three Missed Calls, Seventy-Four Unread Texts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're sorry, the number you have reached is not in service. At the tone, please record your message. When you have finished recording, you may hang up, or press 1 for more options. To leave a callback number, press 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, I can start to write more characters besides Ed, Oswald, and Ivy!!

For thirty minutes, Oswald could push his guilt and grieving over his dead friendship with Edward to the back of his mind as he was engrossed in learning about Ivy.

 

Thankfully, she wasn’t some loony who was one step from Arkahm, as Oswald initially thought. It’s not like anyone could blame him. Her body said mature, catfishing woman, but her mannerisms spoke otherwise. The way she swung her feet off the counter stool, her hatred for coffee when it was offered to her, being unaware of how one-night stands work; it all screamed the personality of a child. That or she was just stupid (maybe a bit of both).

 

Strangely enough, finding out her older body was the cause of an escaped Indian Hill experiment wasn’t that odd. Oswald saw what those monsters did with Fish leading them. Who knows how many more Ivy Pepper cases there were where people were forced into rapid aging? This wasn’t the weirdest thing he had seen before breakfast.

 

Ivy really didn’t seem to care that he was the mayor. She wasn’t overly polite, like most of the buffoons Oswald interacted with daily, giving faux praises while any of them would sell him out for one corn chip. Ivy seemed like a generally nice girl who was excited to make new friends, like any normal young girl would do.

 

While this wouldn’t make Oswald lower his guard too much by now, the momentary security Ivy carried with her set a match in his cold, dead heart. This could work.

 

When Oswald realized he was going to be late to work, he sent Ivy off with some leftover sausages (she said she was very poor) and money for a taxi ride home. He also provided his number in case she needed to call him for a favor to repay her for the past eight hours.

 

After watching the cab disappear down his expansive driveway, Oswald sighed. Edward still wasn’t home, and wasn’t answering his cell phone, despite the numerous frantic messages Oswald left in his voicemail. It wasn’t like Edward to not answer his cellphone- he _never_ ignored calls.

 

Then again, Edward really hadn’t been himself since Isabella came into his life and ruined everything.

 

 _‘Whatever,’_ Oswald thought as he hastily retreated to his bedroom to get dressed, _‘He knows where to be, if he still wants to keep his job.’_

 

\----

 

Edward never did show up for work that day, nor relayed any sort of message that would explain his absence. Oswald checked his cell phone as often as he could, yet there was never a new message for him to read. With each hour he received nothing, he began to get more and more worried.

 

The anxiety crept up to whisper in his ear all day, and with every hour it seemed to only get louder. Oswald tried, tried real hard, to convince himself there wasn’t anything to worry about, and that if Edward could be mad with him and cut contact, Oswald could do the same.

 

Besides, there was too much work to be done for Oswald to be worrying. Due to Edward’s absence, he got some guy named Tarquin Stemmel (and Oswald thought _his_ name was unusual) to even attempt to replicate how Edward did his role. Edward was precise and went above and beyond at everything, where Tarquin had the personality of a graham cracker and only did what was required with a painted smile.

 

Tarquin didn’t understand Oswald. Edward did. He was the only one.

 

But Edward was still giving Oswald the silent treatment, and Oswald had about enough of it. He was ready to pull his hair out when he used part of his short ride downtown to call Edward, once he had a moment to even breathe. He took a deep breath before he began to speak, trying to keep his temper under control so he didn’t accidentally start bawling when trying to be angry.

 

“Edward,” he said, voice quivering, “I’m going to be home at around six today, and when I get home I expect you to be there. We need to talk, mainly about your current job position, and if you’re willing to even live under the same roof as me. If you quit, fine, fine! But give me closure. That’s all I ask; I don’t ask for your forgiveness, just to know that we feel the same way.”

 

Oswald snapped his phone shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. The hand on his thigh tightened on the expensive fabric, as if trying to pull it apart. Tarquin, who was sitting next to him, straightened up in his seat and chose to look out the window as the city buildings blurred by.

 

“I didn’t think it’d be raining this early,” he muttered to himself as he glanced up at the gray sky, “Well, at least we brought our umbrellas. Right, Mr. Mayor?”

 

“Hmph,” Oswald grunted as he looked out the opposite window to hold up his mask that everything was okay.

 

 _‘Ed… why don’t you just answer?’_ Oswald thought, staring blankly at the phone in his hand.

 

\----

 

Oswald burst through the front doors, anxious beyond belief. He looked around the house as he descended up the stairs, straight to Edward’s bedroom. It was quarter till seven, due to the returning heavy traffic, courtesy of the famous Gotham rush hour that lasted for three hours, and the orange light bathed the hushed manor within its ancient walls.

 

“Ed, I-” Oswald began, but stopped mid-sentence when he was greeted to an empty bedroom. The sheets were folded by now, courtesy of Olga, yet everything had remained seemingly untouched from the day before.

 

Walking around Edward’s room felt unnerving, like he was doing a very, very bad thing. Edward’s bedroom with no Edward, Edward’s current home without Edward. Oswald stomach twisted, and he pulled out his phone to call him again, his trembling hands making the dialing process difficult.

 

After yet another voicemail of Oswald now begging, pleading for Edward to pick up, Olga passed by in the hallway, a broom and dustpan in her hand. Oswald stumbled out to catch her before she disappeared down the stairs.

 

“Olga!” he exclaimed “Ed, did- did he call? Come home?”

 

Olga shook her head. “No, sir,” she replied sadly. She may be foreign, but even an idiot could see the worry that was eating up Oswald from the inside out, and his frustrations during work were but a distant memory by now.

 

As his hope dwindled, Oswald did what he normally would do after a long day of work. He poured himself a drink, sat by the fire pit, and waited anxiously with his head towards the front door. _‘If he’s not back by midnight, I’ll make a call,’_ he promised himself.

 

Any second now, Edward would pop through the front door and, if he was lucky, beg Oswald for his forgiveness after being such an angry fool. Of course, Oswald would forgive him- after screaming his throat dry at Edward for making him worried sick.

 

But Edward didn’t come home by eight o’clock. Or nine. Or ten. Or eleven. Or midnight.

 

Oswald was petrified in anxieties, and did not sleep for the rest of the night as he mentally prepared for his trip into town first thing tomorrow morning, reviewing and re-reviewing his story in his head as Edward plagued his only thoughts.

 

\----

 

No one was ever eager to be at the GCPD at the crack of dawn, much less have a morning shift at all. Mornings meant tedious paperwork and cleaning up after the mess that crooks left last night. Everyone moved sluggish and the poor coffeemaker was abused by the dozens who crowded around it in the break room, making the whole room smell like cheap coffee.

 

Harvey was especially not a fan of mornings. His new promotion to standing captain meant even longer work hours and less time to sleep in every morning, making any of last night’s drinks regrettable as all hell. Thankfully Jim, taking pity on the older man, usually came in early with him so the drive over wasn’t so boring.

 

Once in the precinct, the two bid their temporary farewells as the split to their own areas- Jim at his desk and Harvey situated in his office. There were case files spread out on the desk in random assortments from the night before, so Harvey decided to busy himself with those before Jim tried to get himself killed today. With the last bit of his coffee, Harvey downed a couple of aspirin to nurse his headache as he prepared for the worse that will probably come his way yet again.

 

What Harvey didn’t prepare for was a familiar sound approaching his office: uneven footsteps and a wooden cane hitting the floor.

 

When Harvey shot his head up, his gaze met none other than the former umbrella boy himself. Oswald had never been known for his looks, but he looked like he just crawled back out of the depths of hell. His eyes were more sunken in that ever before, and his hair was greasy and without an ounce of styling product he always used too much of, sticking to the sides of his head in thin strands. On top of all that, he did not look happy at all.

 

“Well, well, well,” Harvey greeted casually with a hint of sarcasm, “If it isn’t the mayor himself. Couldn’t send your servant to do the dirty work today?”

 

Oswald was in no mood for games. He stormed over to Harvey’s desk and slammed his hands on the table. Now Harvey could really see his bloodshot eyes- did Oswald even sleep last night?

 

“I am in _no mood_ for games, Mr. Bullock,” Oswald hissed, “I need to file a missing person report right now.”

 

“Were the lines down? You could have called.”

 

“I don’t need phone lines, I need results!”

 

Harvey sighed and took off his reading glasses. “Then I’ll hook you up with someone who specializes in that. Detective Blanco should be in-”

Oswald pounded a curled fist on his desk over one of the numerous closed manila folders. “No! I can’t _wait_ any longer! He- he is out there- possibly _dead_ \- and as your mayor, I demand you act immediately, or so help me-!”

 

“Oswald?”

 

Both men turned their attention to the office doorway where Jim was standing, hand resting on the frame as he came into view. Oswald gave an exasperated sigh and nodded at the detective.

 

“Yes, hello, hi, James,” he said, then turning back to Harvey, “Mr. Bullock, I’m serious. I will not allow any time to be wasted, so you better get your ass in gear, since you were apparently competent enough to get promoted to such a high position.”

 

“Woah, okay, hold on,” Harvey said as he stood to his feet, patience growing thin.

 

“Oswald who is ‘he’?” Jim inquired, getting concerned over Oswald disheveled appearance and his anxious and frustrated mannerisms.

 

“Yeah, could you at least explain first? You look tired, so maybe you should sit down and-”

 

“Sit down?” Oswald hollered, loud enough for the whole precinct to hear as he got even farther up in Harvey’s face, “How can I calm down and sit down when Ed is missing and maybe even _dead_?!”


	12. Urban Fox Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt begins!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so it's been a long time. Like, a really, really long time. And I think I owe an explanation of sorts.
> 
> This fic started off really strong. I was eager and wrote a lot in a short amount of time, since I had so much free time. Though then my university started to really pick up, along with other real life matters, such as therapy and clubs. I didn't have time to write or draw like I used to. I also got very caught up in frequently re-planning how this story will go down; character interactions, how to write certain scenes and plot points, and even altering pivotal moments in future chapters. I'll admit, I may have gone a bit over my head for this. Personally, it is pretty ambitious for a dumb fanfic on the internet, and I don't know if I'm the type of person who is made to do this kind of thing.
> 
> But I frequently thought about this story. I really, really want to finish it, and now that classes will be ending in a few weeks, I think I'm going to finish what I started. I think if I didn't have even those few loyal readers, I wouldn't even get this far. Thank you, and here is another installment of "Greener Grass" for the first time in months.
> 
> \- Meaghan

“Did Ed exhibit any odd behaviors before his disappearance? Mood swings, getting rid of his personal belongings, anxiety, anything?’

 

“No. Actually, wait, kind of. He was acting like he intended to sneak out when I was asleep, and was scared when I caught him.”

 

“Scared? How so?”

 

“Not sure, but something was weird. Whether it was from just recovering from a panic attack, or something more, I’m not sure.”

 

“Did he have a reason to be afraid of you?”

  
“I… I was a horrible friend. Maybe not _afraid_ of me, least I don’t think so. But I wouldn’t blame him for trying to stay away.”  


“Can you elaborate?”

 

“Preferably not.”

 

“Mr. Cobblepot-”

 

“All I’m willing to say is that I may or may not have let my emotions get in the way of his personal life. I hated that he was happy with Isabella, I guess. That’s all I’m going to say on that.”

 

Harvey pinched the bridge between his eyes. “I need you to cooperate, please. I promise that whatever you say will be secret, but whatever you did might have caused this.”

 

After taking a moment to stare at this lap blankly, Oswald breathed out. “Okay, fine. We have had multiple fights over this woman, specifically his lack of spending time with me, especially when it concerned business, for her. In the end, I called him… I called him a… a ‘psychotic murderer.’ Right to his face. For all I know, this is an extreme case of the cold shoulder.”

  
Harvey scratched his hairy chin in thought as he filled out the missing person report occasionally glancing back up at Oswald sitting across from him at his desk. “Uh-huh…,” he muttered, “Well, that’s all I got for now. Of course, we’ll keep you updated and let you know if we find anything.”

 

“ _If?_ ” Oswald replied, yet mentally stopped himself before he got emotional again and he took a deep breath, “Yes, if you find anything. Of course. Thank you for your work, Captain.”

 

Oswald stood from the stiff wooden chair and shook Harvey’s hand with an unnatural lack of emotion or charm- it was almost too formal. Oswald being _pleasant_ to Harvey- or anyone in the GCPD that wasn’t Jim for that matter- was unprecedented. Nodding as he returned the gesture, Harvey gazed up at the heavy bags sitting under Oswald’s eyes that aged him by several years.

 

“You sure I can’t get you any coffee?” Harvey offered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “Look, I know we haven’t always been best friends, ‘cept that time with Gallivan. But it’s early, and-”

 

“No, thank you,” Oswald gritted as he made his way for the door, in no mood for idle chit chat, “I have a meeting to attend, and I’d rather not waste any more time than I need to. Good day, Bullock.” His shoulders were hunched, and he stood three feet shorter than his personality normally would, like a sad old man. Or more like a penguin. At least more than usual.

 

Harvey watched the mayor disappear through the doorway and passed the office windows, and as if on cue Jim slipped in as soon as Oswald left.  
  
“Told you not to spy on me,” Harvey reprimanded as he took a swig from his flask.

  
“I wasn’t,” Jim retorted, “Just passing by. What did he say?”

 

“Take a look yourself,” Harvey replied as he handed Jim the file, “Bad case of lady troubles, it seems. Had a fight with each other and now Nygma has gone and dropped off the face of the Earth it seems.”

 

“Weird. Don’t remember Ed letting words hurt him that much.” It was no secret that most of the GCPD treated Edward horribly when he was in forensics, yet he was resilient, at least. No matter how many people were annoyed by him, he kept on doing what he wanted and got the job done. Now it seemed like Arkham spat out a brand new Nygma who is sensitive and values other people on an emotional level beyond puppy love.

 

“Remember, the guy’s ‘certified sane’ now. Who knows how Arkham changed him?”

 

“Maybe it’s because he and Oswald were close?”

 

“Possibly.” Harvey stood up from his desk and slipped on his blazer, then downing the rest of his coffee in a long gulp. “C’mon. Let’s see what the cause of this fight has to say.”  


\----

 

The library smelled of dust and outdated literature- suitable for someone a man as intelligent as Edward Nygma would want to court. The bell chimed as the two men stepped in, and an elderly man sat at the front desk, writing down something on a notepad. He was short and stocky with thin gray hair and some of the thickest glasses Harvey and Jim have ever seen on his face.

 

“Hello, welcome-” the man asked, his sentence backtracking once he recognized the two’s badges, “Ah, good morning officers.”

 

“Morning,” Harvey responded as he made his way to the desk, Jim following close behind, observing the low-ceiling building.

 

The man set aside what he was writing under a messy pile of papers and adjusted his glasses. “What can I help you boys with?”

 

“You Ruben Fischer?”

 

“Sure am. Proud owner of this here library, have been for over ten years. Why?”

 

“Well, we have a missing person report that is tied to one of your employees.”

 

Ruben furrowed his bushy brows. “Who?”

 

“Edward Nygma. Tall, lanky, affiliation for riddles, Chief of Staff to the mayor. Apparently deeply in love with your employee, Isabella Mertens. Any of that ring a bell?”

 

“Isbaella’s lover?” Ruben asked, dripping with disbelief, “That’s awful!”

 

“It is,” Harvey agreed, “Now, according to our report, Edward told our guy that Isabella was leaving for a librarian’s conference two days ago, and we don’t have time to be waitin’ around for her to get back, so do you have a mobile number or any way else to contact her? Maybe name and number of the conference? She could help us save this man’s life.”

 

Ruben stared at Harvey like he just coughed up a whole egg out of his mouth. “Librarian’s conference?” he repeated, “No, no, that’s wrong.”

 

That got Jim’s attention back, and he joined Harvey in looking down at the man in the desk after exchanging a strange look with him. “How so?” he asked.

 

“Well, the annual librarian’s conference we attend every year in Metropolis. It isn’t for another month.”

 

“So, what you’re saying is that she never left town?” Harvey inquired.

 

“She did leave though. Requested for bereavement leave two days ago. Said her mother died of a heart attack, and she left to go to Vermont. Poor girl.”

 

Jim and Harvey stared at each other at the exact same moment, knowing just what the other was thinking then. “Do you have her address on hand, by any chance?”

 

\----

 

Three firm knocks by Jim with Harvey behind him, just like they’ve done dozens of times before. They managed to get a warrant in case anything got drastic, as Isabella did not answer the phone Ruben left the number for, even after eleven calls. Her neighbors weren’t exactly helpful, as none of them had seen her for several days, though did show a level of concern when they pieced together she may be missing as well.

 

Neither man could put it correctly, but something about this whole mess was leaving a poor feeling in their stomachs.

 

Silence came from the other side of the door after Jim’s knocks.

 

“Hello, Ms. Mertens?” Jim called in, putting his ear to the door and knocking again, “It’s the GCPD. You’re not in trouble, we just need to ask you a few questions.”

 

Silence again, this time they waited for half a minute before looking at each other and exchanging a nod. Guns drawn, Jim kicked open the door with ease (the building wasn’t exactly modern) and they went inside on high alert, guns bared.

 

The lights were turned off within the stuffy apartment, and everything was quiet, too quiet. It reminded Jim of his mother’s house but without the light and love of it all- antique furniture, a multitude of books, and some unfortunate mixture of pink and beige colored wallpaper.

 

Jim investigated the kitchen while Harvey checked out the nearby hallway. It was a kitchen alright; it wasn’t any different than any other kitchen that could be in this building, or any home in Gotham for that matter. No sign of struggle nor any blood splatters were present, just anything else that would indicate that this is a crime scene.

 

Jim heard Harvey bust open another presumably locked door, then a couple moments of silence. “J-Jim!” the older man called from the other room, only a little bit totally freaked out tone in his voice, “You may wanna come see this!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Oswald in this chapter. But he's coming back


	13. Apartment 104 and It's Terrible, Terrible Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces are there, yet how do they fit?
> 
> Also Isabella's neighbors are the worst- at least for two tired detectives just trying to follow a seemingly non-existent trail.

Within less than half an hour, there was five more people who flocked to Isabella’s cramped apartment, some taking pictures, others talking more in depth to neighbors. Despite being here for more than an hour now, Jim still felt disturbed by what he discovered here. No doubt Harvey felt the same way.

 

In the previously locked room was something that seemed right out of some sort of twisted horror novel. It was a shrine, a shrine dedicated to Edward Nygma in an unsettling fashion. Photographs, newspaper clippings, notes scribbled over notes over pictures, ripped out diary entries- everything resembling a demented scrapbook, except this scrapbook took up three walls of the bedroom. There was even a lock of Edward’s hair nailed to the wall in a Ziploc bag with a date written on it like one would do to leftovers.

 

The further Jim and Harvey investigated after the initial shock, the worse it became. Upon further inspection, there were photographs that shouldn’t even be in this woman’s possession. Pictures taken from obscure angles, like she was hiding in a bush or taken as she was passing by.

 

One that made Jim especially uncomfortable was one taken from outside of Oswald’s home where Edward was in the living room. Although it was too grainy to make it out clearly, it wouldn’t take a genius to know Edward did not consent nor know about that one.

 

A heavy feeling was sitting in Jim’s stomach as he scanned over the wall for what felt like the hundred time- each time he found something new and just as disturbing. Nothing about what was happening felt real.

 

This was Edward Nygma they were talking about. One of the smartest masterminds in Gotham, yet it seemed like he wasn’t smart enough to realize this woman was stalking him for God knows how long. Maybe Edward did know. Maybe he liked it like that; someone who obsesses over him just as much as he obsesses over her. But to this degree… it wasn’t natural.

 

Jim rubbed his tired eyes and continued scanning over the wall, reading and studying the things that peaked the most interest. For now, he mostly just read over the newspaper and tabloid headlines, and would probably read more in depth when he could read these under a light.

_“NYGMA SENTENCED TO LIFE IN ARKHAM”_

_“FORENSICS WORKER KILLS FELLOW COP, FRAMES ANOTHER”_

_“EDWARD NYGMA, FROM ARKHAM’S CLUTCHES TO THE MAYOR’S SIDE”_

_“ATTEMPTED ASSASINATION, CHIEF OF STAFF SAVES MAYOR”_

_“EDWARD NYGMA, THE REAL STORY”_

Jim shook his head. These stories didn’t know Edward, or at least how Jim knew him. Though now that he thought about it, did Jim even really know Edward that well? Did he even bother to learn anything about him, just like everybody else?

 

Rocks continued to form in his chest, yet he continued to look at the puzzling wall with morbid curiosity partially driving him.

 

\----

 

Harvey really hoped Jim was having more luck than he was getting, because it seemed like everybody in this building didn’t ever talk to each other, judging by how half of them didn’t even know Isabella’s name (including her own next-door neighbor). All their alibis and stories began to sound the same after a while- six households interviewed, six dead-ends.

 

“Never saw much o’ her. Ain’t she a librarian or somethin’? Yeah, she prob’bly spent all her time with them books. Can’t say I knew her.”

 

“She wasn’t much of a talker. Val and I invited her over for our Christmas party last year. See, we always invited the whole floor over, ‘cause that’s what you do during Christmas- booze and friends. She had just moved in, so we figured it’d be nice to introduce ourselves and help her get acquainted. She never came, but never even turned us down. Kinda rude to ignore people like that.”

 

“Who? Oh right, blonde lady, vintage dresses, works at that library down the street. Yeah, I’ve seen her, passing by every now and then. Hardly left her apartment besides going to work and getting the mail. Never even smiled to me in the hallway, ‘cept maybe the first or second time I ever saw her. Saw her locked in arms with that new man she’s got last week, but I didn’t pay much attention to the face.”

 

“Quiet, very quiet.”

 

“Homebody.”

 

“Shut-in.”

 

Six dead-ends in a row; an unending streak of unhelpful gossip until the seventh household was visited.

 

“Strange lady, but went through quite a mood swing ever since she got that new boy with her.”

 

“Mood swing?” Harvey asked, perking up at the sound of something new coming into play. He was sitting at the kitchen table of a young couple, Eva and Jack Heath, notepad sitting in front of him while he mindlessly clicked their pens. Eva had wiry hair and a myriad of freckles covering every inch of her skin, and Jack was a dark, dark fellow with a voice so deep it made Harvey sound like a squeaky soprano.

 

“Yeah, it’s like she became a new person overnight,” Jack agreed with his wife.

 

“Can you elaborate?”

 

“Well, we did our best to be nice to her. Tried to introduce ourselves when she was first moving in, but she only let us exchange a few words before slamming the door- right in our faces! Sucked in her own little world of books, and wouldn’t bother to acknowledge us in the slightest. Never seen a woman that antisocial.”

 

Jack put an arm around the uncomfortable and heartbroken Eva, then turned his attention back to Harvey. “Though after she met that guy, she was a new woman. Well, kind of. She began to actually say ‘hi’ to everyone on this floor, act like a sociable person, but only when the guy was around, which was a lot. Like she was just showing off. Two-faced bitch.”

 

“Well, that guy of her’s, Edward Nygma, is missing,” Harvey explained, “We were gonna try to talk to Ms. Mertens to get some testimonies, but turns out she’s gone too. You know anything about him?”

 

The couple’s faces paled. “Edward… Nygma?” Eva repeated, “That guy who… who _murdered_ people?”

 

“Yes,” Harvey replied flatly.

 

“Knew he looked familiar!” Jack cursed, “He never spoke to us, and she’d always call him ‘Ed’ without a last name. Never even saw him, but we could hear them talking through the walls. Should’ve known… do you know why they’re missing?”

 

“Can’t really the specifics of what we found yet. Could be anything; political ransom, lost in the woods, kidnapping, suicide, murder. That’s why I’m speaking to you now- to find out what happened and why.”

 

“I bet he killed her and dumped her in the woods,” Eva spat bitterly, “Maybe he fed into her isolation and he was using her for his own sick kicks, and now he kidnapped her. Now that I think about it, maybe she didn’t have that sad childhood. Maybe she thinks it’s funny and made it up for attention, or so everyone will leave her alone. Would explain that mood swing and the trophy boyfriend.”

 

Harvey temporarily removed his hat and ran calloused fingers through his scraggly hair. Now that he thought about it, what if Edward really didn’t turn over a new leaf? The more he thought about it, the more likely it was that Edward could have fed into the delusions of a deranged, depressed woman. The cutting off of his friendship with Oswald, the accounts of isolation from Isabella’s neighbors, suddenly disappearing with a woman who looked like she couldn’t fight off a middle school boy in a fist fight, the sudden release from Arkahm.

 

It was crazy, but this was Gotham, so it could be just the answer Harvey was seeking.

 

\----

 

As is turned out, going nearly forty hours without sleep did terrible things to a man, but despite how worn out physically and mentally Oswald was now, he couldn’t care less. He still was able to contact his main underground crime lords through moments of breaks during the day. That night Oswald’s main dining room was filled with various big-name crooks, all eyes on Oswald without a word.

 

Oswald paced back and forth, his cane clacking on the tile loudly and the low lighting from above shadowing his tired eyes. He hadn’t said a word since he entered the room, and every was too smart to dare speak out of turn. It wasn’t a secret that there was a ready blade hidden in that fancy walking stick.

 

Suddenly, Oswald froze in his tracks and turned to the table, his lips contorting into off-putting smile that was almost fitting for the distressed, mentally unstable and sleep-deprived criminal kingpin of Gotham.

 

“My friends,” Oswald began, “My dearest friends. I’m sure you are all very busy, and I thank you for coming out tonight to hear my schpeel. I will try to make this brief, as I know some of your schedules are full enough, and you can be one your way.”

 

Breathe in, breathe out. “I’m not in the mood for theatrics, so I’ll say it straight: Edward Nygma has been missing for about two days now, and I believe he has been kidnapped. Now, I’m not here to point fingers, despite how _some of us_ in this room may or may not have made attempts on Ed’s life before.” He shot a quick and ugly glare at Barbara Kean, who rolled her eyes and resting her head on her fist. Bratty as usual; Oswald expected no less from her.

 

“But I would not be surprised if it was connected to someone in this room. So, here’s what’s going to happen.” Oswald began walking- limping- around the guests, giving each one a severe look as his voice drew to a spiteful hiss. “If I find one _sliver_ of evidence that _any_ of you had a part in this, I won’t kill you- not immediately, that is. I’ll make sure your empire crumbles before you, that anybody you care for in the slightest will suffer- business partners, wives, children, anybody. Then I’ll see what you did to Ed, and I will make sure whatever I choose to do to you will be _worse_.”

 

“But I know what you’re thinking: ‘why should I care, I’m innocent!’ And for that, I’m also offering a reward. Think of it as a game of sorts. If you can find Ed and bring him in _alive_ , I am prepared to offer double, no, _triple_ of whatever the GCPD offers as a reward. I will throw in a hefty bonus if you can bring me the monster who did this, dead or alive.

 

“Ed was… was a dear friend and partner to me. I’ve heard the talk that I’ve pushed you all, my dear friends, aside after becoming mayor, and I can understand the frustration. But if you can do this for me, I can assure you that we can become _best_ friends in the future, and I’ll re-evaluate your spot of power in the underworld. So, in short: find Ed, and I want the head of the monster who did this, even if it’s the man sitting across from you. Meeting dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll write more Oswald soon. Sad, tired bird boy will return.
> 
> Also, I'm considering making a mid-chapter cover featuring Oswald. Thoughts?


	14. The Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk through the park, but for Oswald, this is no walk in the park.

The proceeding two days were agonizingly slow and painful, like getting stabbed and your attacker teasing and wiggling the blade around your insides. It was as if Oswald was consciously aware of every second that gone by that Edward wasn’t found. To Oswald, that is what it really felt like.

 

By now there had been a missing persons report filed for both Edward and Isabella, their faces being hung up in grocery stores and on telephone poles all around the city. None of Oswald’s contacts had proved to get any luck, since there hadn’t been a single tip given to Oswald yet. Generally, Gotham’s underground had the best bloodhounds around, yet everywhere people looked turned out to be a dead end. Sure, it was possible that they were all in on a big conspiracy to take Oswald down, but that was another concern for another time.

 

Even the GCPD seemed to be losing faith at this point. The case had been passed down from Jim to another cop, probably to put Jim on one of the more “important” murder cases of the week, and even then, there weren’t any major developments made.

 

Though what frustrated Oswald the most was how much they outright _refused_ to tell Oswald any details of the investigation. Daily he left calls asking for updates, but to no such luck. He was the mayor, for Christ’s sake! He hated feeling so powerless in the face of an organization that barely knew which way a gun is pointed, like a child.

 

But Oswald kept his temper. He knew that if he blew up at Harvey or resorted to his usual tactics of intimidation to get what he wants, then he’d never get the help he needs. Not like that mattered anyways, because the case was getting colder by the minute, and Oswald was losing hope.

 

He had been frantic during that time. He snapped at anyone for the smallest things, like the intern at City Hall who bumped into him and made him drop his cane. Oswald probably should have felt remorse for yelling at her like that, but there wasn’t time for apologies. Not when Edward was out there, possibly dead- for real this time.

 

Sleep was becoming rarer. Oswald was lucky if he got four hours of sleep per night, his usual being around two or three. He survived on caffeine and granola bars, beginning to skip meals as his anxieties filled his belly enough. His hair was styled in odd ways, the purple bags under his eyes grew with each passing day, and all around he was an anxious disaster.

 

He needed Edward. Even just to say he was sorry for being such a jealous idiot. He just needed Edward here with him again.

 

\----

 

Another torturous day in City Hall, and Oswald was stuck having to fill out and read various documents that he could hardly care less about; who was willing to put so much work into campaigning for environmental protection in a city, anyways? Oswald groaned and twirled his pen absently between his fingers, while the other propped his head up to stay awake.

 

“What do you think, sir?” Tarquin asked.

 

“Huh, w-what?” Oswald said, looking up, “Oh, yes, of course.”

 

Tarquin put his hands on his hips and gave an exasperated sigh with a smile that just screamed passive aggressiveness. “Now sir, I’m getting the feeling you’re not even _listening_ to me at this point.”

 

“I was.”

 

“Then what were we talking about?”

 

Oswald grumbled a string of nonfluencies and looked at something else in the room to avoid eye contact with his annoying underling.

 

“Mister mayor,” Tarquin scolded, “I’m getting very concerned for your health lately, as is a lot of Gotham, I think. I know you’re worried, but you have to show more self-care when you’re a public figure. When was the last time you even ate something that’s _not_ a granola bar or coffee?”

 

“I’m awake, aren’t I?”

 

Tarquin’s polite mask was beginning to crack, and his eye twitched momentarily. “Sir, this is important. Yes, of course, we all miss Mr. Nygma, and we hope he comes home safely, but this isn’t some laughing matter. This city _needs_ you to be its backbone, and frankly, it’s not a good public image to…”

 

The man continued onwards with his nagging, as if he was Oswald’s mother. Oswald rolled his eyes and reached for his coffee, taking a hefty swig to try and drown out Tarquin’s nagging. Oswald didn’t even like coffee, but it was keeping him awake, so he tolerated the bitter substance. However, his attention shifted when he heard a noise emit from his coat pocket. It was his cell phone.

 

Oswald fished the phone out within two seconds, almost spilling his coffee over all his documents in the process. He opened the little device up so fast that nearly tore the top half off it’s hinges. He pressed it to his ear, his heart racing and chest heaving.

 

“Hello?” he stammered, “Ed? Is that you? Hello?!”

 

 _“Oswald!”_ A familiar voice spoke over the other line. It was not Edward. Instead it was Jim, but it was better than nothing.

“Jim? Jim! What is it, where’s Ed?”

 

_“We think we have… well, he have something. Something you might wanna see. We’re at the park, ‘bout ten miles from City Hall. They’ll let you through and I’ll meet you there.”_

 

Oswald was out the door before Jim even finished talking, ignoring Tarquin calling behind him as Oswald ripped through the building and down the many, many flights of stairs. He had even forgotten his cane behind, as well as his coat only being half on by the time Oswald was out the door and getting into a cab.

 

\----

 

Sure enough, Jim kept his promise. Oswald was let through the yellow tape just across the park lake’s surface, far out from normal walking trails. The air was a kind of crisp, cool mid-September that nipped at noses but wasn’t nearly cold enough to snow. It was just cold.

 

Jim met him shortly after behind the police tape lines, and Oswald clutched onto Jim’s shoulders like it was his only life force as soon as he got over. The taller man looked grim and exhausted; more worn and old-looking that his usual stoic persona he had when he was working.

 

“Where is he?!” he spat- though not out of malice, but out of manic panic- “Ed? Is he okay?”

 

Jim’s face was stiff, but he nodded and motioned behind him. “This way,” he said, “But you may not like-”

 

“Just show me!” Oswald cried. Jim led him across crunching leaves and dirt; though getting mud on his expensive shoes were the least of Oswald’s concern right now. Several other cops were standing around, and they all watched the pair make it through the crowd. The first thing Oswald noticed beyond the cops was the red gas canister marked with a _“#3”_ card. They stopped when they approached Harvey, who was standing over… standing over…

 

 _‘Oh God,’_ Oswald thought as his face melted into horror.

 

Harvey was standing over two figures that were currently being zipped into body bags by a much younger cop. He turned to face Jim and Oswald when he approached, his own expression mirroring Jim’s. Oswald’s grip on Jim’s sleeve turned into a deadly one through the layers of clothes.

 

“Is… i-i-is that… wh-what is that?” Oswald stammered, pointing to the figures on the ground. He knew the answer in the back of his mind, but surely it couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.

 

Harvey and Jim exchanged solemn glances, then Jim sighed, placing an arm on Oswald’s shoulder as the smaller man took shaky steps towards the things on the ground.

 

“We got a call this morning from someone who was chasing after their runaway dog,” Harvey explained, “We came down, and sure enough… wait, don’t-!”

 

Harvey was too late to stop Oswald, now on his knees, from ripping open the black body bag with trembling hands. Once he did, he jumped back and let out a silent scream of shock and terror.

 

Obviously, there was a body in there. Though by now it was hard to even call it a person, as it currently more resembled the charred remains of a log, or a very, very convincing Halloween prop. Mangled, burned flesh that was already deep in the decay process greeted him, and the smell was just as shocking as the body itself.

 

It hadn’t been the first time Oswald had seen a dead person, and it certainly won’t be the last. But he’d never seen a corpse like this, here, and in this way. This was supposed to be Edward. His Ed. This. Was. Edward.

 

Oswald covered his mouth as he shuddered on the dirt ground. He felt sick and horrified, like his bones turned to maggots and were crawling around inside of him, like what was happening to the corpse before him. He wanted to wake up from the awful dream already.

 

“T-T-T-That’s n-not, not right,” he sputtered, shaking his head violently and pointing to the corpse, trying to avoid looking at it, “T-Th-That, that’s not E-Ed. Not h-him. I-It’s not. You… you’re joking, right?”

 

Jim and Harvey looked at each other, silently arguing who would be the one to tell him. Harvey lost the argument and rubbed a hand over his mouth, looking down at Oswald. “It’s, uh… the heights matched, similar builds… Forensics says that the bodies are roughly three to four days old; it’s amazing nobody had noticed them until now,” he confessed grimly, “Everything points to this being a match. Probably a double suicide, by the looks of it.”

 

“Shut up! Shut! Up!” Oswald howled. Tears had begun to well up in his eyes, while the rest of his fact was getting red with emotion. “You’re lying! This… this isn’t him! Where is Ed?! Tell me now, or I’ll gut every last one of you like hogs!”

 

The mayor was going to continue, but the bad diet he’d been living off finally caught up with him. He hurled everything he could hack out onto the ground next to him while the officers looked on in silence. When that was all done, Oswald wiped his mouth and rested his head down on the body bag, sobbing into the rubbery material.

 

Jim knelt beside Oswald and wrapped a comforting, warm around the smaller frame, not giving a damn about being professional or even being supposed enemies. He could only imagine how Oswald was feeling right now, and even then, it probably wasn’t enough. Yes, Jim wasn’t supposed to get close to a known murderer and criminal, but that didn’t mean Oswald didn’t deserve comfort when he experiences loss.

 

“There’s also… there’s also this,” Jim offered, which got Oswald to look up again, now snot-nosed and his eyes puffy. In Jim’s other hand that wasn’t around Oswald, he held a small plastic box, no bigger than several inches and a dark brown color. It was covered with a considerable amount of grime, but still intact.

 

Edward’s glasses case.

 

Oswald took the object and examined it, furrowing his brow. As if out of fear, Oswald slowly opened the box to reveal a tightly folded piece of paper. It was a worn paper with some water damage and lots of crinkling, but paper nonetheless. The top of the note read, _‘TO OSWALD’_ in black pen.

 

“There was another note too, but we thought that you’d probably wanna read this one first,” Jim explained, his arm now removed from Oswald, “We didn’t read it yet. Found this and the other one in a box nearby, loosely buried near a tree.”

 

Oswald looked at the note, then at Jim, then back at the note. He unraveled it despite being petrified in what this would say. The note read:

 

_Dear Oswald,_

_I can ruin a fantastic tale, or I can justify all means. I come quick to all merry times, and can never come sooner for the painful ones. I am the knot that ties together theatrics, and I am eternally prophesized to come just beyond the horizon for mankind. I am found in both a dear friend and a horrible fiend. What am I?_

_By the time you read this, my life will be at it’s end. I tried to pretend everything was fine. I had to. But everything wasn’t fine. You seemed to have thought that welcoming me into your home and giving me a flashy job would just fix everything, like what I’ve seen and done can just go away. You tricked yourself into that mindset, and you even tricked me with your frantic grasps at idealism._

_But then you set fire to your own threshold, and discarded me once you were finished with me. Your friendship was all I had left to motivate me to keep on this façade of normalcy, and just like that it was gone. Isabella and I have suffered too much, and we were both rejected by everyone in our lives but each other. She understood me, and I understood her. And thus, we are now here, and she and I are no more._

_I’m sorry I gave you so much trouble. I wasn’t who you thought I was, and I put you through unnecessary anguish and turmoil because I simply wasn’t satisfied with my life. I carried many regrets throughout my time on this Earth, and by now it had simply become unbearable. This is a burden I carried long before meeting you, but ever since I left Arkham it worsened at such a rapid pace that I was left without any other options._

_Please don’t hate me over my decision. Do not let my own issues hold you back in life; you always were known for letting your emotions getting the better of your full potential. You may keep any of my possessions that you wish- so long as nothing is given to my family who have given me nothing throughout the years- but do not dwell on the past. I’ll admit that my brief time with you where you believe we were content was nice, and despite everything, I’m glad you were my friend._

_Sincerely yours,  
Edward Nygma_

_P.S. The answer is “the end”_

**End of Act 1**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed by now, in the words of Lemony Snicket, "In this book, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning and very few happy things in the middle."
> 
> Geez, I know. Not a very pleasant note to leave off of. This chapter also ended up being a lot longer than I hoped, but oh well. I hope that riddle was good. I'm not very good at writing those things ;v;
> 
> So yeah, finals are almost done, and on break I will be writing more. But before anymore chapters get posted, I'm going to be making another piece of cover art to go along with the next act. Yay!!
> 
> Also if you're looking for a genuine romance for nygmobblepot in this fic, this probably is not the fic for you. But fear not, dear reader! I do plan to have a bittersweet payoff, but we still have a long ways to go before that, and Oswald has a lot of changes to go through. For now, enjoy my Oswald (torture porn) character study (which will also include other characters).


	15. Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka "Very Unhealthy Forms of Coping and the Inability to Move On When the Heart Remains Heavy". But that chapter title was too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter art for the new act!!  
> Tbh if I didn't do this art this chapter would've been out earlier. Sorry ;v;

 

Tarquin unlocked the manor door with his spare key in one hand, while another stayed buried deep in his pocket. It was a rather freezing, bitter day where all of Gotham wished they could stay inside, sitting by the fire with their loved ones. It had snowed last night, but by now that winter confection turned into unsavory slush, gray and no fun at all. So basically, it was a normal late November day.

 

The manor, thankfully, was already warm; the fire was going, and the thermostat was set high to combat this miserable weather. Freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon brought Tarquin over to the kitchen. He walked to the kitchen island and picked up the morning paper, glancing over it in search of incriminating gossip. By now the main talk of the mayor had ended, but as the new Chief of Staff, Tarquin had to look out for his mayor’s image.

 

Olga, who had been busy at work at the stove, turned when she heard the paper rustle from behind her. “Good morning, meester Stemmel,” she greeted, “Coffee?”

 

“Oh, Olga, you are a _gem_ ,” Tarquin replied, beaming at her and putting a hand across his chest, “But I’ll have to decline. My wife made some this morning, and I can’t turn down that woman’s magic touch.”

 

Olga frowned, but with a playful glint in her eye. “I have no ‘magic touch’?”

 

“You spoil me, Olga, but really, you don’t have to go through so much trouble for me.”

 

“I cook for meester Nygma, I cook for you, too. Is no problem.”

 

Tarquin cleared his throat. “Yes, well… erm, maybe later. I’m here to see the mayor, actually. I have some good news.”

 

“Upstairs,” Olga responded, pointing her spatula in an upwards direction.

 

Tarquin looked up as well. “Is he…”

 

“да. He sleep there much lately.”

 

With a nod of understanding, Tarquin left the kitchen, his pleasant demeanor shifting as soon as his back was to Olga. He knew what he was going to find, but it still didn’t make it any less obnoxious that this was becoming a routine. By now, Tarquin was done playing passive. Cautiously, he wrapped his knuckles against the old wood door, though he only waited several seconds for a response. He swung open the door to the far-right door upstairs, where the lights were still on for god knows how long from the previous night.

 

The room reeked of stale dust, and for good reason, judging by the practically static surfaces of the bedroom. Dressers, curtains, lamps, and a large wooden wardrobe, all untouched by time. The bed was the only part of the room that had been used lately, as it was used right now. Various articles of clothing- mostly shirts and ties- littered the top of the covers, each in various stages of wrinkling.

 

In the middle of the heap, lying in a fetal position and clutching a vibrant green blazer in the grasps of his slumber, was Oswald, who hadn’t even changed into his pajamas the night before. There was a bottle of wine, empty and discarded, sitting on the nearby night stand and glistening in the morning sun rays.

 

Tarquin let out a heavy sigh and went over to the bed, wasting no time to jostle the sleeping figure. Oswald awoke with a groggy groan, hiding his face away from the light by burying it in the expensive blazer fabric. Classic hangover Oswald, indeed.

 

“Rise and shine, sir,” Tarquin announced, “Sorry, I just let myself in, but you didn’t reply. Didn’t you hear me knocking?

 

Oswald just groaned again, refusing to respond like some spoiled child.

 

“Look, it’s time for work. Olga’s getting breakfast together.” Tarquin picked up the wine bottle and examined it. “Is this a new bottle? Did you drink all of this by yourself?” Another incomprehensible groan came from Oswald. “Oswald, seriously? You have a meeting today!”

 

This finally got Oswald to take his face away and sit up. His entire face looked sunken in and dragged down, like a sorry old bloodhound; eyes were dark all around and his complexion was a sickly pale. It would be a surprise if he had even showered in the past few days. He glared at Tarquin and grunted.

 

“Keep you voice down,” Oswald groaned, “I’m right here, you know.”

 

Tarquin pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I won’t!” he snapped back, “I am not going to keep my voice down. This is serious.” He walked directly in front of where Oswald now perched himself on the edge of the bed, hands on his hips as Oswald rubbed his tired eyes.

 

“Move,” Oswald hissed.

 

“No,” Tarquin asserted. “Sir, I’m worried about you, but I need to put my foot down. This isn’t the first, or the second, or the fifth time I’ve seen you passed out in here, sleeping with some dusty clothes. Keep this up and you’re going to drink yourself to the grave.”

 

“So?”

 

“ _So_ this is getting to be a major problem. It’s been months, Oswald, _months_ , and you still can’t bring yourself to move passed this adversity? At least cleaning this place would do a milestone of good. Maybe wash the clothes you keep sleeping with.”

 

Oswald looked at his lap. “But they were _his_ things.”

 

“You can’t keep doing this forever!”

 

“Why not?”

 

It took ever ounce of strength not to blow up at Oswald right now. “Because this is detrimental for your public image! You’re a _public_ figure, and people are talking. You think the people of Gotham are going to be able to look up to such a pathetic, hollow shell of their former mayor? It’s amazing you’re still shown _any_ respect in this city. The people see you as a _joke_. You understand that!?”

 

Oswald went silent and hung his head in shame. It was no secret Oswald hadn’t been taking care of himself since Edward was found dead in the park; it was a wound that time only deepened. He heard the gossip, but what was the point of being a monument of hope for this godforsaken city when his pedestal was missing?

 

He arose from his spot on the bed, pushing past Tarquin to grab his painkillers and a glass of water from the night stand. The bottle had now been a permanent resident in Edward’s room, as Oswald always managed to wake up with monster hangovers whenever he spent time in here. Funny how the world works like that.

 

“Do you even _care_ that you’re trashing your own reputation?” Tarquin continued, choleric that he was being ignored yet again.

 

Oswald swished the water in the glass absent-mindedly. “Who cares what the people think?” he asked.

 

“ _Everyone does_!” Tarquin snapped

 

“Then to hell with them!” Oswald barked back.

 

“Oswald, you have the biggest interview of your _life_ coming up in a week! And in case you forgot, your reputation reflects on me and everyone in City Hall. I’m not just going to let you throw it away because you can’t move on!”

 

Rage bubbled up in Oswald, and he was damn close to smashing that glass over Tarquin’s head before his brain fully processed what he was told. “Wait… say that first part again,” he hissed, “Interview?”

 

Tarquin’s irritated expression slipped into an exasperated laugh- back to being fake nice again. “Oh geez, look at me, I just ruined the surprise,” he chuckled.

 

Oswald cocked an eyebrow. “Surprise?”

 

“My whole point for coming here in the first place. I pulled some strings, talked my way up, and I managed to land you a TV interview with national journalist Margaret Hearst next Friday!”

 

Oswald’s face went pale and he gulped. “You what?”

 

Tarquin held his hands up defensively. “Before you start yelling, let me remind you that this is a _national_ broadcast. Margaret isn’t just some nobody; her word is like the world of God for public figures. If you make a good impression and show to the country that you’re the beacon of light for us, like you were at the start of your term, then this may single-handedly save your career.”

 

Oswald went silent, and he looked down at his clothes from yesterday, then into the tall mirror near Edward’s wardrobe. It was tempting, of course; being in the center of attention, being adored once more. Though this all felt wrong. As mayor, Oswald lived a double life of a split personality; by day, he was the respectable mayor of Gotham, and by night, a ruthless kingpin of Gotham’s underworld. He wasn’t meant for the glamour of national news.

 

As Oswald was lost in his own thoughts, Tarquin came up behind the mayor and put his hands on the other’s bony shoulders, peering into the mirror as well. “Just picture it, sir. The country seeing this city as the castle on a hill. Gotham will learn to love again. You’ll have the press kissing your feet again. You’ll be a star, and I’m sure Mr. Nygma would have wanted the same for you.”

 

Oswald wanted to discuss further, but Tarquin phone suddenly went off and he looked at it with a scowl. “Ah, it’s my assistant,” he cursed, “I managed to get some of the question she’ll be asking you. We’ll go over it during breakfast.”

 

As Tarquin excused himself to take the call in the hallway, Oswald peered back at his disheveled reflection in the mirror, who gave that empty stare back. _‘What Ed would want…’_ he thought to himself, cocking his head.


	16. Prohibition, Cold Turkey Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some habits need to be snuffed out painfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this being so late. I got really sick over the break, but I'm finally feeling better ;w;

“An interview on live television!” Oswald exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair as he paced, “Can you believe it, Ed? Oh, and he just decided to _drop_ it on me out of nowhere. Barely any time to properly prepare.”

 

Oswald took a swig of his totally not spiked coffee, savoring the burning sensation that ran down his throat, despite it being a bit too hot for his normal taste. “I mean, honestly Ed, you would have _hated_ this guy. My mother didn’t raise an idiot; I know a fake smile when I see one. Same thing as Barbara Kean and I hate it. He doesn’t care about the _personal_ aspect of this job. Telling me to just ‘get over it’ already- like he has any idea what I’m going through.”

 

Another swig. “I’m the ridiculous one, apparently. Oh yes, I’m the ridiculous one. On top of all that, I still have no idea what I’m going to _say_ at this shitshow, and it’s only a few days away. Tarquin’s been trying to prepare me, but he doesn’t have that… wit. Yes, wit- the kind of wit to know what Hearst is going to say and beyond. What do you think, Ed?’

 

Oswald stopped his pacing and looked down to his side. Of course, this ice-laced tombstone sitting in a miserable cemetery in the freezing cold couldn’t answer back. He may as well have been talking to a brick wall. The tombstone hadn’t changed for months, yet it already felt older and grayer than when it was first put in- like an old tired soul. There was a phrase etched into the stone:

_EDWARD NYGMA_

_JANUARY 29 th, 1976 – SEPTEMBER 14th, 2005_

_BELOVED FRIEND & LOVER_

 

Initially, Oswald came near daily for visits, and brought new flowers- white carnations, Edward’s favorite- every three days. But the weather proved to be too cold for that by now, and Oswald’s visits were less frequent due to the demands of work.

 

Oswald let out a sigh and knelt on the light, grayish snow that covered the grass and the world around it, placing a gloved hand upon the stone. “Oh Ed,” he muttered, “If only you were here. You always know what to say.” Standing and brushing off his coat and slacks, Oswald nodded at the grave. “See you on Friday after my interview. I may need to share a drink with how poorly this is probably going to go.”

 

Through the crunchy snow the mayor traveled once more, and by now he barely made a passing glance at Isabella’s grave that sat next to Edward’s, for he had long stopped feeling much of anything for that woman.

 

\----

 

Generally, if Oswald had no reason to turn down free food- be it for crime or other personal reasons- he’d be there in a heartbeat and try to enjoy himself, lest he had ulterior motives. But nothing could have prepared him for wanting to rip his hair out after Tarquin treated him to some upscale Italian dump downtown.

 

In all honesty, the food was not bad, per say, but Tarquin talking Oswald’s head off left a bitter taste in his mouth that contaminated all the food he ate that night. He had shared some watery scotches with his employee- the only thing keeping Oswald sane for the two hours- while Tarquin lectured him about “interview etiquette” or something like that. Not like Oswald was listening anyways; the way the ice floated in his drink was a much more appealing thing to focus on.

 

Then again, even his beloved alcohol didn’t taste right during the meal. It felt watery and bland, leaving an unforgettable taste in his mouth. Why Tarquin personally recommended so heavily it was beyond Oswald- it was practically more than half just water! Still, it was more interesting than Tarquin.

 

Arriving home, Oswald massaged his temples and rubbed his face. Tarquin shut the door behind him and hung up his coat, then took Oswald’s out of courtesy (or just to suck up like usual). The taller man rubbed his hands together. “Harsh weather, isn’t it?” he said.

 

“Typical Gotham winter,” Oswald replied solemnly.

 

“Hey, maybe Hearst will be too cold and cancel the whole thing; she’s from California after all.” Tarquin playfully nudged Oswald and chuckled at his own joke, much to Oswald’s indifference.

 

“If only she would stay away, then I’d be free from you. You’ve been bugging me all week with preparing for this. I’m two minutes away from tearing your head off.”

Tarquin let out a hearty laugh this time, which Oswald rolled his eyes at. Of course, Tarquin took his statement as sarcasm with the deadpan way it was delivered- but Oswald only half meant it, so he supposed that worked out in his favored. He limped over to the dining room as Tarquin followed close behind.

 

“Olga gone yet?” Tarquin asked.

 

“Yes,” Oswald responded, “Since I was going out to eat, she had no reason to stay this long.”

 

“That’s good. Poor thing works so hard around here. I’m sure she appreciates you employing her with such generosity.”

 

“Hmph. Maybe.” If he had to be honest, he wouldn’t blame Olga for not trying to betray him by now. She had a lavish lifestyle, and Oswald’s newfound grieving gave her one less room to clean, even if she did insist it needed to be dusted occasionally (which never succeeded). Oswald reached the antique liquor cabinet and knelt to the glass door, opening it. Once he did opened it, Oswald took a double take to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

 

The cabinet was utterly, completely empty. Not even a single bottle with only a drop left was to be found.

 

“I-It’s empty…” Oswald murmured. He sprung to his feet and went into the kitchen. He ransacked the cupboards and the refrigerator, but once again he came up dry. Tarquin stood in the doorway of the kitchen, acting surprisingly calm.

 

“Something wrong, sir?” he asked nonchalantly.

 

Oswald pushed passed him, then proceeded to search the rest of the mansion. The second liquor cabinet in the living room, all the bedrooms- especially Edward’s- and even the secret compartment he kept by his bedside, which was where he kept his father’s favorite brand of scotch from when he was still alive. Everything was gone.

 

“I’ve been robbed!” Oswald exclaimed when he came back into the living room, where Tarquin was now standing. Oswald made a beeline for the telephone. “All my liquor, gone! That stuff wasn’t cheap. I’m calling Olga right now to see if she saw-”

 

Tarquin placed a hand on Oswald’s before he could pick up the receiver, then making eye contact with the smaller man. “We don’t have to call Olga,” he assured.

 

“Then I am going to search to make sure they didn’t steal anything else! If I find out they touched _anything_ in Edward’s room, I’m going to hunt them down, and… and gut them!”

 

“That won’t be necessary. They only took the alcohol in this house, and it can be returned to you at any time.”

 

“What?!” Oswald hissed, grabbing Tarquin by the collar to pull him to eye level, “How do you know all this?”

 

“Because I ordered some men to come and pick it all up while you were working and when we went out to dinner. I’m sorry, sir, but it’s for your own good.”

 

Oswald’s grip tightened. “You give me my alcohol back, _now_ , or I-I’ll… I’ll fire you on the spot!”

 

“Listen to me!” Tarquin snapped back, holding Oswald’s hands between his own, “I wasn’t kidding when I said you were one drink away from a coma. This interview is no joke, and I need you to start taking better care of yourself even after this interview. I’m trying to help you, and you left me with no other choice!”

 

“I’m _fine_!”

 

“Look at your hands, Oswald! Look at them!” Tarquin held Oswald’s hands up, and to Oswald’s shock they were shaking, and it wasn’t from his anger. The fury and ego Oswald used to lash out with was swallowed when he gulped with his tail between his legs. “Oswald… please understand. You need this. When you’re cleaner, I’ll have everything shipped right to your doorstep. I’ll leave all our notes in the dining room for you to go over. Go get some rest, and I’ll see you at five tomorrow at the station.”

 

Tarquin lightly squeezed Oswald’s trembling hands, and left the manor without saying another word. Oswald was left leaning on the side table, staring blankly at his shaking hand with only a loose grip on reality at this point. He stayed there for a while, mind gone blank yet racing with thoughts simultaneously- static and playing every television station of his mind at the same time.

 

After standing for a while, and as he was sure Tarquin was gone by now, Oswald used his shamefully shaking hands to reach for the phone to call his driver. He wasn’t planning on it tonight, but Oswald was ready to perform a little number he hardly ever did- not since Edward helped him out of the woods and nursed him back to health.

 

That little number was called, “an act of desperation,” and it only worked if his partner was willing to submit to the double act.


	17. An Act of Desparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brother, can you spare a drink?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this chapter was a lot longer than i meant it to be ;v;
> 
> Also I'm making a Playmoss mixtape for this fic, which you can see here -> https://playmoss.com/en/cosmicmind/playlist/greener-grass-a-nygmobblepot-fic-playlist  
> I'm open to suggestions, it's kind of a WIP

The knock on the door startled Jim, so much so that he nearly dropped the glass he was drying off over the kitchen counter. It was far too early to even be getting such a knock; Jim’s place still looked like a mess from his bachelor lifestyle. He set the glass down and breathed, straightening himself out.

 

 _‘Jim, you can do this,’_ he thought to himself as he fixed his hair in the wall mirror by the door, _‘He’s seen you covered in your own blood or someone else’s too many times. Who cares if you’re kind of messy? Yeah, I’ll just play it off. No big deal.’_

 

Another harsh knock came from the door, and Jim groaned. He looked presentable enough, at least until he could slip back into the bathroom to freshen up again. “Coming!” he called, then taking another deep breath before opening the door. As he did so, his smile dropped.

 

“Hello, James,” Oswald, who had been the one knocking so furious, greeted with a sugary smile.

 

“Uh… Oswald?” Jim asked, looking behind the smaller man. He was alone- no goonies in sight- so at least this was a business meeting (which confused Jim even more). “Hi? What… what are you doing here?”

 

“I was in the neighborhood. Can’t I visit an old friend?”

 

Jim scratched the back of his neck. “I… I guess. But I thought you and I were… y’know what, nevermind.”

                                                                     

“May I come in?”

 

Jim glanced at his watch. A five-minute visit wouldn’t hurt, he supposed- just if Oswald didn’t pull a favor out of his ass this time.

 

“Uh, yeah, sure. Come on in.” Oswald beamed up at him and limped inside, basking in the warmness that welcomed him. Jim stuck his hands in his jeans pockets awkwardly. “So, you uh… what’s up?” he asked.

 

“Not much,” Oswald responded as he surveyed Jim’s cluttered apartment, though surprisingly not in a judgmental manner, “Mayor stuff, y’know. I’ll tell you, I think being mayor has shaved a couple years off my life. I’ll be gray by forty at this rate!”

 

Jim chuckled. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

 

“How’s Bullock?”

 

A splash of color crept up to Jim’s cheeks. “He’s… he’s fine. Being Captain looks like it’s stressful, but he’s got a good grip on us.”

 

“Good, good,” Oswald trailed off, folding his arms. Even through the subtle movements, Jim could see the signs: overly-fidgety hands, sunken in eyes, the solemn expression. At this point, it was obvious neither of them wanted to acknowledge the elephant in the room, though it had to be done.

 

Jim cleared his throat. “Can I be honest, Oswald?” he said.

 

“Of course, Jim. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

 

“You look like shit. Are you… okay?”

 

Oswald frozen momentarily, then cackled. “Ah yes, I know, I look terrible, don’t I?” he chimed, “Have an interview for national TV tomorrow, and I’ve been studying for it all week. They have a makeup crew, no doubt, so I can get rid of these horrible dark circles.”

 

“You sure about that?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure. Now, I’m quite parched. Why don’t we sit back with a couple of beers and… catch up for once? No fighting, no favors. Just a friendly chat.”

 

Jim moved to stand in front of Oswald before he could finish turning around to head for the kitchen. “No, I don’t think we need drinks to catch up,” he stated firmly, “I can get you a soda, if you want.”

 

“No thanks. Please, Jim, drinking is a social thing, don’t you know? It strengthens bonds between men to share a good drink.”

 

“It’s about Ed, isn’t it?”

 

Oswald stopped everything he was doing and looked up at Jim. For a moment, his vibrant eyes seemed a bit brighter, and he appeared like he was ready to cry. Jim’s throat tightened, but he stood his ground.

 

Oswald sniffed. “Are you wearing cologne?” he asked.

 

“What?” Jim replied, caught off guard by the random statement which colored his cheeks once more.

 

Oswald took a step towards the fridge. “C’mon Jim. I _really_ could use a drink. I’ll buy you some wine- the good kind, not your cheap garbage- another day to pay you back.”

 

Jim stepped in front of Oswald. “I don’t think so. Answer my question.”

 

Another step to try and get around Jim. “What question?”

 

Another step to counter Oswald’s movement, only this this Jim grabbed Oswald’s shoulders so the other wouldn’t move again. It felt weird to have any kind of power over this little twerp- the roles were reversed so many other times. “That look. I know that look. You’re drinking to forget, aren’t you?”

 

That was the last blow to Oswald’s ego. His face went pale, and Jim knew that he hit the nail directly on the head with that one.

 

“I… I-I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jim,” Oswald protested, looking away from Jim’s face, “Let go of me!”

 

“I know it hurts, and I know you miss him,” Jim insisted, “But please, _please_ believe me when I say this isn’t the right way; none of this will make you feel better.”

 

Oswald hung his head now, and his shoulders tensed down. “Jim, please… I just need that drink.”

 

“No. I miss Ed too, but that doesn’t mean you have to destroy yourself from the inside out over him.”

 

Neither of them said anything for several solid seconds. It was as if Oswald hadn’t even heard what Jim said, and Jim wondered if he was going to cry (what a sight that would be). Their situation felt awkward; Jim didn’t know if he should sit down with him or hug him or what. He decided to try to go in for a quick hug, but as he did so, Oswald’s head rose slightly to look Jim in the eyes.

 

Oswald wasn’t crying, that’s for sure.

 

“You think you miss Ed?” he growled, tightening his fists.

 

“What?” Jim said as he took his hands off Oswald, “Of course, I-”

 

As Jim tried to finish his reassurance, something harsh and quick swept across his cheek, causing him to stumble back from the sudden impact. Jim’s held his face as it stung, and he glanced down at a very, very furious Oswald with his hand raised, one glove off. Jim brought his hand away and looked at the palm, noticing the two red speckles on it.

 

He hit him. Oswald used his ungloved hand to hit Jim and drew blood from it.

 

Oswald got in Jim’s face once more, but this time Jim backed up to the kitchen counter, eyes blazing and grabbing fistfuls of Jim’s nice collared shirt. “You _miss_ Ed?! Don’t give me that shit, Jim. You only cared about Ed when he was gone, and it made you look good! You think Ed never told me about how you and the rest of the GCPD, the rest of the _world_ treated him? How _dare_ you say that you miss Ed when you never took the time to even _know_ him?”

 

Naturally, Jim wasn’t ready to get his ass beat by a man that much shorter than him. He pulled Oswald hands away and shoved him back. Oswald nearly lost his footing and he grabbed the kitchen table for support.

 

Like a boxing ring, Oswald took little time to lunge back at Jim with flying fists. He did manage to land some hits on Jim, as weak as they were- no different than a child punching him (Oswald was not a mobster known for his strength). Jim tried to just keep Oswald’s hands down, but it turns out what Oswald lacked in physical strength he made up for in perseverance- every time Jim put one hand down from punching his chest, another one was yanking his hair.

 

“The hell’s gotten into you, Cobblepot?” Jim hissed.

 

“You!” Oswald screamed, “You’re the problem, Jim Gordon! You know what you are? Selfish!”

 

“Oh, I’m selfish, huh?”

 

“Yes, and just like everybody else in this damn city, you act like you care only when it benefits you!”

 

Jim managed to hold Oswald’s wrists together at last, enough time to catch his breath and try to talk to Oswald. “Why don’t you look in the mirror? You’re the one pretending that you’re the only one who was connected to Ed, and the _only_ one who could possibly be hurting. Just sit down and we talk about this like grownups if you’re done having a tantrum.”

 

Oswald bit his lip, and for a moment Jim thought he’d choose the rational option and calm down. But Oswald is not a rational person. Instead, he chose the next logical thing that was the obvious choice for most people in that situation, and headbutted a trained cop and ex-soldier in the face.

 

“Fuck!” Jim said, letting go of Oswald to hold his face. Oswald huffed and stood his guard for Jim to retaliate again.

 

“This wouldn’t have happened if you just got me that drink, Jim,” he said, glowering, “Stop being a baby. You’ve probably had worse hits in the Narrows.”

 

That’s when Jim lifted his face, and revealed the blood coming out of his nose in a steady stream. Oswald gulped, but he wasn’t afraid. Jim would never hit an old friend who was going through serious mental turmoil right now, right?

 

“You…” Jim snarled, “You mother fucker!”

 

Oswald had no time to register anything between standing in front of a bloodied Jim after he said that and being on the kitchen tile floor, his head spinning as Jim had him pinned like he would with low level criminals he’d arrest ever day. Or worse, like some savage animal.

 

“You come into _my_ house,” Jim seethed as he held Oswald’s arms behind his back in a deadly grip, “Try to drink _my_ alcohol when you’re clearly just trying to cope with loss, and then _attack_ me when I’m trying to help. You may be the mayor, but you’re still that nervous little umbrella boy in my eyes, and especially under my roof. You don’t scare me, Cobblepot. Never have, never will.”

 

Out of instinct from the searing pain- and maybe some bottled up emotions- tears welded up in the corners of Oswald’s eyes. No, he wasn’t going to cry now. Crying in front of Jim would be suicide.

 

In fact, he was already cooking up something to snap back at Jim: a witty, well thought-out comeback to let Jim know he won this argument and wasn’t going to back down.

 

“Fuck you,” he said.

 

“Yeah, well fuck you too,” Jim replied.

 

Oswald pressed his face to the cool tile, and only now noticed that his nose was bleeding as well. Without his guns or men, Oswald was completely powerless against Jim, and he hated it. His position could not be worse right now.

 

The front door swung open, without any prior warning, and, of course, Harvey Bullock made his way inside- a pizza box in one hand, and a six-pack of beer in the other. Initially, he was oblivious to what was happening in the kitchen, looking around like a dope.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” he called out, closing the door behind himself, “Didn’t hear me knocking? I was at the door for a minute, so I just let myself in.” He stopped and looked around, walking over to the kitchen but not bothering to look at what’s right in front of him. “Jim, where are-?”

 

Then he noticed. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the scene in front of him in shock, not breaking his gaze when he set the pizza and beer on the kitchen table. Jim’s grip from Oswald’s wrists vanished and he resembled a deer in headlights, frozen. “H-Harvey… I forgot,” he muttered, “Sorry.”

 

Harvey saw Jim’s bloodied nose and disheveled appearance, then his surprised demeanor turned into a raging bull when he registered that it was Oswald underneath Jim and pieced together the scene. Jim climbed off Oswald, who groaned as he tried to get himself to stand back up, head still feeling like lead. Luckily for him, Harvey hoisted him off the ground for him and was close to holding him above the ground.

 

“The hell you doing, here, _Penguin_?!” he roared, “Tell me why I shouldn’t cave in your big, stupid nose in the next five seconds! I don’t care if you’re mayor or not!”

 

Jim grabbed Harvey’s arm as Oswald’s head lolled with regaining awareness of his environment. “Harvey, wait, he’s-”

 

“Leaving,” Oswald finished. Harvey glanced at Jim, then back at Oswald and let him go. Oswald limped out of Jim’s apartment in a rush, not daring to look back at the men behind him, ignoring the pain in his face and leg. There was no point in trying to explain himself. The damage was already done

 

As the cold Gotham night greeted him outside, Oswald realized. Maybe it was the bloodied and bruised nose talking, but Jim was onto something. Alcohol wasn’t the answer here. It was a weak substance that Oswald needed a lot of to get by, and even then, he was miserable.

 

No, Oswald needed a much stronger medication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awww Jim's pining (of course I had to put my true otp for gotham in this fic somehow)


	18. Cinderella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment of truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: I wrote this entire chapter in 1 sitting. yay

_Edward died on a cold Wednesday, and was buried on a raining and equally cold Sunday._

_Two caskets sitting side-by-side, pristine and polished, all paid for out of Oswald’s own pocket. It was a closed casket service, for obvious reasons, and was held in the largest cathedral in Gotham- same place that Oswald’s own father’s service was. In more ways than one, the sense of déjà vu was all too present._

_With this, Oswald was also brought a stronger emotion. A kind of a emotion that was too difficult to describe in words. Not even a specific emotion gripped him; it was more of an amalgam of different feelings all melted into some unsavory soup. The kind of feelings soup that gripped it’s crushing hands around his torso, splintering his ribs into millions of shards. Shards that pierced into Oswald’s heart and deflated the man of his passion for life._

_Oswald wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not even when he went up to kneel in front of Edward’s casket, back to the crowd and Gabe standing behind him dutifully. Even if he was going to be facing away, he still had to be strong. No use in showing the many members of Gotham’s government and elite how much emotion a politician- and crime lord- could have._

_Oswald directed his attention back to the casket, and ran his fingers over the gold plaque reading,_ “EDWARD NYGMA.” _There he remained for quite some time, murmuring quiet apologies to an inanimate object before him, not caring whoever heard him. His eyes stung, and he just wanted to shout at the sky until his throat was raw._

_Still, Oswald wasn’t going to cry. Not even when they lowered Isabella’s and Edward’s caskets into the ground._

_Now Oswald was also accompanied by Victor Zsasz, who didn’t emote very much, as usual- just stared at the whole process in a pregnant silence. The funny part was that Oswald never even asked him to show up, but here he was. In a way, Oswald could tell Victor had a level of respect for Edward; after all, he did help Edward take down Butch._

_Long after the whole ceremony was over, Oswald still stood in front of the pair of graves while Gabe held his umbrella. His face was empty, showing nothing but pure silent grief, while his mind raced liked a broken record._

_‘Ed’s gone Ed’s gone Ed’s **gone** gonegonegonegonegone **dead**.’_

_Eventually Gabe nudged Oswald lightly. “Lemme know when you wanna go, boss,” he said, “Car’s waitin’ for yous.”_

_Oswald blinked, then nodded. “I think I’m done for today,” he replied solemnly, “Just need a good drink.”_

_“Sure thing, boss.”_

_When Oswald did get home, the house felt colder than it ever had before. Normally it felt alive with Olga’s ever-present cleaning and cooking, or at least with the fire crackling in the living room._

_But the manor just felt cold and dead like it never had before- no hint of life existing here. The lights were off, and Oswald was the only one in the house. Olga had attended to the funeral as well, and Oswald requested that she left from there, as he just wanted to be alone tonight. Oswald wondered if Olga had a family to come home to; a husband to kiss on the cheek, maybe some kids to play with, and a home that was always bustling._

_Oswald practically stumbled in the darkness to the liquor cabinet and pulled out the first bottle of alcohol he could get; an expensive bottle of scotch, and one of his father’s favorites. Like father, like son, Oswald did love his scotch too. However, right now if it was alcohol, it was fine._

_He got himself a glass and sat at the empty dining room table, at the head as always. With shaking hands, Oswald poured himself a heaving shot and brought it to his lips. He drank slowly, and savored the burning sensation as he continued to look straight ahead, as if he was sitting across from someone else._

_But that someone else was left behind at the cemetery, leaving Oswald sitting at this large table by himself in the dark like a loser. One, two, three shots later Oswald was still looking forward with that thousand-yard stare._

_Then, after being held in all day, Oswald’s cheeks felt wet at last._

\----

 

“Come on, Tarquin, lighten up. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

 

Tarquin groaned and stuck his hands impatient under his armpits so he’d stop running them through his hair and fidgeting. It was thirty minutes until the interview, and no one had even _heard_ from Oswald. It started to become a possibility that the lazy bastard wasn’t even going to show up. Tarquin never smoked, but damn, he really needed a cigarette

 

“I swear to God, if this guy doesn’t show up…” Tarquin muttered, “Probably went out drinking _again_ last night and fell into a ditch. Good fucking riddance.”

 

“I think he cares a little bit about his career,” his colleague replied, “Lighten up.”

 

“ _Lighten up_?” Tarquin snapped, “I don’t think you understand who this man is.” Tarquin glanced over at shoulder to make sure Margaret Hearst was still getting her makeup done, and was well out of earshot. “This man has made my new position more like a personal babysitter than actual administrative work. I’ve tried for _months_ to get him to change, but he’s just a pathetic _loser_. Maybe he’s just used to his loony buddy being in that position, so he can get whatever he wants. Well let me tell you, if he’s not here in the next five minutes, I’ll- “

 

Suddenly, the door to the recording area opened, and all eyes fell upon the five-foot-six man with a limp who entered the room. He was standing up straight, his hair neatly styled and combed back, and a crisp black suit adorning himself. Giving a quick scan of the room, Oswald made his way to the interview chair set, cane tapping rhythmically.

 

“Oswald?” Tarquin said, not believing what he was seeing before him.

 

Oswald paid him no mind, aside from the quick glance and nod of approval. His face was completely stoic, not looking pathetic in the slightest with only minimal dark circles. He sat across from Margaret, who was just finishing up her makeup. Her eyebrows raised when Oswald sat down.

 

“Evening, Miss Hearst,” Oswald greeted, giving a stiff smile.

 

“And good evening to you too, Mr. Cobblepot,” Margaret replied and extended her hand, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 

Oswald shook that hand firmly. “Likewise.”

 

Tarquin bit the nail of his thumb as he watched these two interact, like watching wild animals on the verge of battling for territory. Surely this can’t be real. Oswald looked cleaner than he had been in months, and was interacting with Hearst like he actually _cared_ about how he looked to other people. He was just normal.

 

But Tarquin knew the new Oswald, and once he opened his mouth when the cameras were rolling, everything was going to fall apart.

 

 _‘Just kill me now,’_ he thought.

 

\----

 

Somehow the interview not only succeeded, but the way Margaret smiled and exchanged pleasantries with Oswald a final time after the cameras shut off, Oswald knocked it out of the park.

 

Oswald limped back towards the door, but Tarquin and his colleagues stopped him, crowding him. Tarquin was the first one to approach Oswald and give him a slap on the back.

 

“How did I do?” Oswald asked sheepishly.

 

“Holy shit,” Tarquin breathed, “Sir, I don’t know how you did it, but you _did_ it! I think Margaret loved you!”

 

“Well, you did prepare me.”

 

It was difficult for Tarquin to contain his excitement- he was as giddy as a little child. “Not just that! You, you’re _back_. All your charisma from the beginning of your campaign, it- it’s back! We need to go out and celebrate, my treat. Everyone here’s invited too!”

 

Before Tarquin and his group could drag Oswald to the nearest fine dining, Oswald put up a hand. “Actually,” he confessed, “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I’m very tired, and I think I just want to have some time to myself tonight, so I can rest. Tomorrow, though, I would love that.”

 

With that sentiment out of the way, Oswald bid all the group a silent good day, and waddled out of the room with his head held high. Tarquin blinked with confusion. Something about how well this day went felt off, but he couldn’t really describe nor understand why.

 

 _‘What put him in such a good mood?’_ he thought, scratching the back of his neck.


	19. The Emperor and the Pharmacist Went Walking Through Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Mania**  
>  _ˈmānēə/_  
>  noun  
> Mental illness marked by periods of great excitement, euphoria, delusions, and overactivity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy National Puzzle Day!!  
> (This is also the day I made Ed's birthday on  
> Also obligatory Regina Spektor reference bc I love her music ^u^)

Despite how much his body longed for it, Oswald resisted the urge to just flop down onto his bed after arriving home and sleep for a couple years. First things first, his face felt disgusting and he needed to wash it.

 

Now Oswald was no stranger to wearing a bit of makeup now and then. A little concealer here and highlighter there never hurt a man’s masculinity- it hadn’t since he first tried makeup for his horrendous acne in high school. Especially in his current state, he needed that minimal touch up. He didn’t know why he never thought of this before.

 

But Oswald wasn’t in the best of mindsets at the time, and a little touchup turned into caking his eyes with gobs of concealer and foundation to make him look mentally sound for television. It was as if he was wearing a second skin; somehow, he prevented himself from scratching the whole thing off during his interview. This must have been how Barbara Kean feels daily (but at least Oswald knew how to use his makeup and not look like a trashy whore).

 

Shoes kicked off somewhere near his bed unceremoniously and his blazer shed off, Oswald trudged his way into the bathroom with lead weighing his feet down. He stared into the mirror and his tired reflection stared back with the same weary green eyes.

 

“You did it Oswald,” he muttered to the glass, a weary smile spreading on his face, “You tricked Tarquin, Hearst, and the whole nation into thinking you’re sane.”

 

Of course, he didn’t do it alone.

 

Washing his face thoroughly, he scrubbed away his mask in the hot soapy water. The refreshing water splashed some life into his cold core, and he was finally able to stop holding his breath from the world.

 

Oswald hissed when his washcloth passed over his nose, which developed a nasty bruise from Jim’s parting gift last night. Thankfully it wasn’t broken, but it was still purple and ugly and sensitive to the touch. At least it will probably clear up within a week.

 

When he was certain all the makeup was washed off, he patted his face dry and sighed. Even from up here in his private bathroom, the aroma of Olga’s cooking had crept in, bringing a smile to Oswald’s face.

 

Everything was great. Everything was perfect.

 

_“So that’s twelve of ‘em, and I assume you’re paying out of pocket?” The Pharmacist asked._

_“Yes, yes!” The Emperor insisted, digging into his pocket with nerve-wracked hands._

For the first time in forever, Oswald went downstairs with his shoulders squared and an extra spring in his limp. Perhaps he had finally found what he was looking for after all this time.

 

_The Emperor pulled out a fat wad of rolled up bills at last and passed them across the table. One of the Pharmacist’s two henchmen took the money and counted it silently. The Emperor’s own lackies stood by his side to mirror the Pharmacist’s, and the two sets of men were locked in a staring contest, waiting to see who does something stupid first._

Tonight’s dinner was a marvelous feast to celebrate Oswald’s triumph- a fat roasted duck, butternut squash soup, roasted potatoes, and everything else Oswald adored. There was no champagne to be had, but Oswald was fine settling for just plain water for once. The dining room was lit up with candles, and a record was playing in the corner. This place felt the liveliest it’s been in months.

 

_For a “Pharmacy”, as it was referred to amongst the underside of Gotham’s citizens, the place certainly was more upscale than what the Emperor expected. He had prepared to meet some scumbag in a random alleyway in the Narrows, but this place was in a rather small below-ground-level building that was a European café during the daytime._

_The Pharmacist wore a sharp suit and a devilish grin that said that he was going to make an offer no one could refuse without speaking a syllable. With a face and attitude like that, the Emperor wondered if his old employer ever did business with him._

 

Being in such a good mood, Oswald invited Olga to sit and eat with him. She refused initially, but Oswald managed to convince her to sit and eat in no time. Her usual cold expression hadn’t changed, and her English still was not great, but Oswald saw her expression. In a way, she seemed to be glad the old Oswald was coming back.

_“He’s good,” the henchman counting the money said to his boss._

_“Excellent,” the Pharmacist said, turning back to the Emperor across the table, “You wouldn’t **believe** how many morons I get in here who don’t know how to count. Well, I would at least hope you can count. Never heard of a mayor who doesn’t know his numbers.”_

“Wonderful meal, Olga!” Oswald exclaimed, “We need to do this more often, share a meal now and then.”

 

“да, is good,” Olga replied, “But I am servant. I cook for you, not eat.”

 

“No, no, I insist,” Oswald assured, patting her shoulder, “I trust you can clean up alright. See you tomorrow morning.”

 

_“This stays between us,” the Emperor growled, “If anybody found out about this, my reputation is gone.”_

_“Of course, of course,” the Pharmacist responded, putting his hand up, “Believe me, anonymity is my top priority here. I have no reason to ruin your image. You don’t out us, we won’t out you.” The Pharmacist shut the silver case, now with twelve identical white pills inside, and slid it across the table to the Emperor. The Emperor’s eyes were hungry, on the verge of ripping open the case and taking one on the spot._

_“Thank you…” the Emperor breathed with a needy smile, clutching the pill case as if it were his final life force._

_“Just remember: only take one a day, unless you’re looking to die, and I’m always here when you want your next round. I appreciate your business, Mayor Cobblepot.”_

Oswald shut the door firmly behind himself and locked it for good measure, savoring the solitude of his room. Breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. It had been quite a hectic day, but it was almost over, and Oswald couldn’t be more relieved.

 

With a change into his silky pajamas and a brush of his teeth, Oswald slipped into bed. He then proceeded to have the deepest sleep he had in a while, a smile on his lips as he slipped consciousness.

 

\----

 

_Oswald took a deep breath. He was alone- no distractions, no witnesses. He was sitting on the edge of his own bed for once, still in his daily suit attired minus the blazer. While his body was begging for sleep, another part of him was itching, scratching at his heart for relief._

_Breath in, breath out. Oswald shut his eyes and popped a single pill into his mouth, crushing it with his teeth and inhaling the dust. Initially it burned, and made his senses go wild, like everything was being stimulated at once. Oswald coughed and flopped back down on the bed, curling up and clutching one of Edward’s old blazers._

_After the initial shock, the overstimulation subsided, and Oswald’s body felt weightless and warm. His previous anxieties were melting away; Oswald giggled at the marvelous feeling._

_Though something pulled Oswald out of his mini trance of ecstasy. A touch- something was touching him. It was a hand. A hand that was now stroking his black hair with a delicate force, just like how his mother did so when he was young. Oswald craned his neck back and looked at the source of the gentle touch._

_Admittedly, Oswald was going to shriek and jump out of his skin, or at least gape his mouth and back up at a loss for words. However, the drug’s effect was too strong, so this didn’t even phase Oswald too much beyond a surprise._

_“Ed?” he whispered._

_Indeed, it was Edward, his beloved Edward, sitting by his bedside and stroking his hair silently. He looked alive and well, but his face had more color in it than he remembered, and he was genuinely smiling down at Oswald. The green suit Oswald always told Edward he looked so good in was adorning Edward, and his hair was combed back._

_“E-Ed?” Oswald slurred as he sat up, staring at Edward, “You’re alive?”_

_Edward didn’t respond, just smiled back and reached a hand out. He ran his palm down the side of Oswald’s face, caressing it tenderly. It felt so real. After months of nearly dying from touch starvation, just this little contact felt like Heaven. Had Edward always been this comforting?_

_“Ed… Ed,” Oswald muttered. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes- surely this Edward wouldn’t mind if Oswald shed a few tears in front of him._

_“Shhhh,” Edward assured in a whisper, putting a finger to Oswald’s lips, “I’m home.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddy is back after 10 chapters~ (kind of)
> 
> Also the playlsit i posted last chapter?? Don't go there i had to take off so many songs bc copywright ;-;

**Author's Note:**

> Cover art by me. Comments are appreciated!
> 
> Keep me company on my blog @ motel-hario.tumblr.com


End file.
